The Twelfth Year
by girlville
Summary: An omniscient view of Goren and Eames as they work a case and (haltingly) find their ever after.
1. Prologue

A/N: This is my offering and my first foray into fan fiction. Make no mistake this is a romance fic. But it's overlayed on a pretty benign case file that I used as a vehicle for the character and couple development. This is an M fic (for swearing and sexual content.) It doesn't start that way so give it a shot even if M isn't your bag.

Forgive any questionable grammar.

I didn't play with canon although my prologue session with Gyson is cutting room floor stuff. Watching the show I found the therapy sessions to be mildly unfulfilling, feeling quite shallow, rehashing the Robert Goren we already knew. I like to think my version feels like those sessions but delves a little deeper. It slots most easily in after Trophy Wine I suppose (questions of loneliness) but this story is definitely meant to take place after TtBitBKC.

* * *

_**Prologue**_

**_She sat her hair flowing, her eyes trained, her affect schooled to reveal nothing._**

**_"So during our last session we were discussing intimate relationships and more specifically loneliness." The doctor tilted an earnest head and looked deeply into Detective Goren's eyes. He met her gaze briefly but then glanced down at the polished tips of his size 13 Ferragamos._**

**_"Can we move on from that topic?"_**

**_"Yes." she paused "But then I would have to ask why."_**

**_"It's just..." he stopped and changed course. "I think we've fleshed it all out."_**

**_A small smile creased her face. "Actually I asked you a question and you declined to answer."_**

**_"Can you repeat the question then."_**

**_"Three sessions ago I asked if you were lonely."_**

**_Bobby remembered the question well because it had lead to a spiral of anger, insecurity and fear on his part. And each subsequent session had been marred by it as he desperately deflected filling their hours with irrelevant stories and shallow observations. Gyson had been in damage control for weeks, trying to get him to recognize his internal triggers and acknowledged the thought patterns that caused him to shut down and lash out. And now they were back again, back at the pivotal question that started it all. He pressed two knuckles to his lips. He didn't think he could be evasive anymore and retain his job._**

**_He shrugged. "I confide in my partner and you."_**

**_She nodded briefly. "And the loneliness?"_**

**_"Loneliness is decadent." he said. That got a rise out of her but she betrayed it only by shifting in her stylish leather chair. Her face remained impassive._**

**_"How can experiencing any emotion in the spectrum of human emotion be called decadent?"_**

**_"I meant loneliness is for navel-gazers, people with too much time to consider themselves."_**

**_"Yes, by definition. But you don't really think there's anything wrong with that?"_**

**_"I do." He thought it was weak. Part of him thought therapy was weak. He kept all that to himself._**

**_"Okay, so you won't allow yourself to experience loneliness or you just refuse to acknowledge it?"_**

**_He thought for a moment. "The latter. This job is a harsh mistress. I don't have time to be lonely."_**

**_"Friendships?"_**

**_"You mean do I have any?" he laughed without humour._**

**_"Yes."_**

**_"I still have a few buddies from the old days. A couple from narcotics, an old captain. But I'm not a big talker. And I can't handle the alcohol the way I used to." He gestured with long fingers, "Mo-most of them have moved on. Marriage, kids... Even grandkids..." Deakins. He'd just welcomed his first granddaughter. Bobby couldn't believe how the years had flown by._**

**_She nodded._**

**_"I still see Lewis often enough." No explanation needed. His friend's name was familiar in this room._**

**_"Often enough?"_**

**_"4 maybe 5 times a year." A small smile played on his lips. "That's about all the time we can eke out."_**

**_She validated him with a slow nod. She understood adult friendships all too well._**

**_"When was the last time you went on a date?" She changed tack._**

**_He looked up squinting then counted back. "Ah, about 6, 7 months ago. Sarah."_**

**_"How did you meet her?"_**

**_"In a bar. In a cop bar."_**

**_"And you only went out once." she gestured punctuating the word by holding up a finger._**

**_He shrug nodded "Twice actually. We were.. uh... physically compatible. Nothing else._**

**_"You had intercourse?"_**

**_"Really?" he asked in disbelief that she would push past his inference and be that direct._**

**_"It's relevant to you as sexual being. As a man that wants more for himself."_**

**_"Okay. Yes."_**

**_"But..." she supplied spurring him on to conclusion._**

**_"I'm a little old to humour someone that doesn't challenge me."_**

**_"We're getting somewhere. You consciously opted out of a relationship with Sarah."_**

**_"I don't think I ever really opted in. I wasn't looking for anything lasting."_**

**_"So it was just sex."_**

**_He shrugged. It had been mindless and mechanical and sort of awful in retrospect. He'd felt great in the moment and then later he'd felt disgusting and cheap. And then he'd called her and they'd done it all over again. He shook his head ever so subtly. Sometimes he didn't know why he did the things he did, a masochistic impulse somewhere deep inside. Gyson gave a questioning lift of her brow._**

**_"Yes just sex. Physical release." he stared her down. If she was willing to go there so was he._**

**_"So you acknowledge that you have a type."_**

**_"I guess... I've been around the block now, certain things matter."_**

**_"Tell me what matters." she shook her chestnut mane._**

**_He leaned way back in the chair with it's deep loungy incline and laughed breathily. "Okay. Strength of character, principles, intelligence, someone that can keep up with my" moved his hands up and down in opposition "non-linear thinking, acceptance of my considerable baggage."_**

**_"All very honourable criteria." she pursed her lips "And physically?" she asked "What do you look for physically."_**

**_"Is this going somewhere?" he moved restlessly in the chair crossing and uncrossing his long legs._**

**_"It's all part of acknowledging yourself and your motivations. Consciousness is the key to behaviour modification." she leaned in now. "If you really want what other people have, companionship, a life partner, we need to understand why you behave as you do in intimate relationships."_**

**_"Physically." He turned sideways in the chair to face her, slinging an arm over the back "Physically." he repeated again impatiently "I'm a man, I like beautiful women."_**

**_"What constitutes beautiful to you?"_**

**_He found this whole thing a little inane and quite uncomfortable so he decided to turn the tables "Long chestnut brown hair." gazed at her giving her his sweetest look "rich umber eyes. A delicate heart shaped face."_**

**_She flushed "Bravo detective." She got his game. "But the only one hurt by your dishonesty is you." _**

**_"That was honest. You are a beautiful woman, and pretty in line with my... type. At least on first blush." For as long as he could recall he'd had this predilection for two types of women: the slender, but sexy, long haired brunette. And the damaged goods. The women with the sad eyes and erratic behaviour. He had come of age on a diet of those fantasies and his preferences had factored into most of his real life romantic decisions. He honestly didn't want to know if it was because he had mommy issues._**

**_"Just an observation." she met his eyes. "Since you acknowledge that you have a physical 'type' going against it might be beneficial, even if you have to think of it less as dating and more as an anthropological study."_**

**_"Because?" He asked irritably. Then recognition dawned "Because I've been repeating patterns with no measurable success."_**

**_"Well it's all a journey not a destination," she smiled at the cliche "so thinking in terms of success and failure might not be ideal. But yes, I'm suggesting a break from habits and patterns."_**

**_There was a fairly lengthy pause before she slowly asked "What about your partner?"_**

**_"This again." he groaned angrily, weary of what she might draw out of him. "I thought we agreed that a man and a woman can work together and not be intimate."_**

**_"Of course. Men and women can be just colleagues, I would never suggest otherwise. What I want to explore is the quality of your working relationship with your partner. The trust and intimacy between partners in your profession rivals most marriages."_**

**_He pondered that for a moment. And felt the hackles rise._**

**_"Well if we're talking types she definitely isn't mine" he bit out._**

**_"Do you consider your partner a beautiful woman?" she prodded because she wanted to make him uncomfortable, shake something loose, anything._**

**_"I really don't want to discuss this." he stood up abruptly, pacing, feeling the same fight or flight response he'd felt in this room before. Why was she torturing him with this line of questioning. He rubbed his fingers harshly through his hair. "Why are you pushing me toward my partner?" He realised she wasn't doing that at all. But this was definitely an illicit line of questioning. For years he had suppressed every single impulse to think about Eames this way. Ever. Intellectually he knew that the doctor was just trying to get him to define his most healthy relationship. But he just didn't want to and he was hoping that a whiff of impropriety might get her to back off._**

**_"Robert, I need you to sit." she instructed in a tone that brooked no argument. He glanced longingly at the door then sat again. She continued, folding her hands in her lap. "It would be unprofessional of me to encourage you to pursue a relationship with your partner."_**

**_He nodded._**

**_"But the relationship deserves deeper consideration as your most important non-familial bond. Is it fair to say that?"_**

**_Goren nodded briefly 'familial even' he thought meanly, and the caustic comment reminded him of Eames._**

**_"And please, don't say anything that doesn't conform to what you honestly feel." Gyson took a deep breath. "Do you consider your partner a beautiful woman?"_**

**_"I... She's a cop. That's asexual."_**

**_The doctor said nothing just sat and stared hard until he was driven to fill the silence._**

**_"Okay." He sighed moving his head restlessly. "I have considered this. Early on in our partnership she was more woman than cop. I didn't know her. I had no idea if we would be professionally compatible. So I guess I was as objective as I've ever been. And objectively she is a beautiful woman." he nodded, "Very physically attractive." Then he added "In a real way. She's a real woman for this real world."_**

**_"Real," she repeated because he had so often. "You rate that highly."_**

**_He gave a short nod. "I know who I am, what I do, what I look like. Late nights, early mornings, lies, liars, vices. There isn't any room for make believe here."_**

**_"So you value authenticity."_**

**_He nodded. "Eames is the most authentic person I have ever met."_**

**_"What do you think makes your partnership so successful?" He tilted his head looking for clarification. She elaborated "... your solve rate? The length of time you've been together?"_**

**_He sat a while and pondered it. It was an enormous question but there really was only one answer. "Alex." he said her name. Her first name. It felt surprisingly good on his tongue._**

**_Her eyes widened ever so slightly but soon her mask was in place again. "That's" she hesitated "kind."_**

**_He shook his head "Not kind, honest." He turned the thought over in his head, how vitally important Eames was to him._**

**_"Tell me about her. Not a string of facts." she cautioned "About her personality."_**

**_She reads people in an instant" he smiled slightly "Eames is a bonafide BS detector."_**

**_"What else?"_**

**_"She... She's steady, you know?" he searched for the words."A calming influence."_**

**_The doctor nodded slowly and waited._**

**_"She handles our PR."_**

**_"PR?" she pursed her lips and knitted her brow._**

**_"For every case there's us." held a hand out to one side "and there's managing perception." he held the other hand out."The captain and the DA usually, but also the press, the Chief of D's, the victim's family. Two legs constantly rubbing. I have a hard time... I'm more theoretical. Eames is more practical. Eames is the natural communicator."_**

**_"You said that early on your assessment of your partner was objective. And now that you aren't so objective. How do you feel?"_**

**_"She has grown in my estimation."_**

**_"Meaning?"_**

**_"I know her now and I know she's selfless, kind, tough," he huffed out a laugh thinking of Eames in take no crap mode. "I trust her, she always has my back. And we value the same things."_**

**_"Give me an example?" she leaned in._**

**_"Of?"_**

**_"Of a common value."_**

**_"Politics. We both always put the case before the politics."_**

**_"So neither of you are political animals? You don't want promotion or recognition?"_**

**_He sat back and huffed. Did he? Did they? Maybe, but it just wasn't in the cards anymore. Besides in his experience either a detective worked the case or they worked the room. Glad handing and solving weren't compatible. His lips quirked because he didn't think he'd ever pleased anyone in his life._**

**_Gyson tucked one elegant leg beneath her waiting._**

**_"Maybe at one time." he said a bit wistfully. He had an ocean of guilt inside about anchoring Eames to his mediocrity, when she could have been captain, hell, chief if she wanted. "Eames could have been more, I think. She could have climbed the ladder. But I'm..." he sighed "I'm a liability."_**

**_"Did she say that?" there was a note of disdain she couldn't hide._**

**_"No of course not." Well, she had intimated once, with Leslie LeZards shrieks still ringing in their ears, but at the time she hadn't sounded cruel just… well… resigned. "In fact she told me just a few days ago that this is where we're supposed to be. She thinks we're doing, have done, a lot of good."_**

**_"Do you agree?"_**

**_He nodded "I'm going to finish my career with Eames." he hadn't known he was going to say that, but it felt so true once he had._**

**_"What other qualities make the partnership work."_**

**_He heard the word partnership, he really did, but he just got mentally locked on Eames. "She's smart. Somehow she always knows where I'm going with something. Looking at the beginning and seeing the end, that's a real gift." He felt a bit euphoric and the doctor nodded. "She's supportive even when everyone thinks I'm crazy. She's dedicated, she's consistent." He took a deep breath "She has seen the worst of me and she's still my friend. Eames just gets it, all of it." His entire countenance softened while thinking of her, his eyes, his lips, his posture it was one of the few pleasures he had in life, their friendship. But it was a secret pleasure. He hadn't meant to broadcast it. He abruptly looked way lest Dr. Gyson discover it. But she was a professional hawk. And when he turned back she was giving him a peculiar look._**

**_He felt his jaw slacken and a sickly fluttering in his stomach. He hadn't intended to go on about Eames, but in his mind he rotated around her axis. Without her gravitational pull he'd have gone spinning off into the darkness long ago. Eames was what made everything work. And Paula Gyson, sharp little Gyson had punctured the seal and suddenly he was gushing about her. He had never said any of that out loud. It was completely true. but all strung together that way it sounded... God..._**

**_She had worked him. And quite effectively._**

**_"That's enough for today." she said making no direct comment because she trusted he was quick enough to get it. "This was very productive." His head was spinning. He felt so vulnerable so emotionally uncertain. So this was a good session? When he had vertigo and wished he could take it all back? Gyson gathered her paper, pen and file folder and placed them her desk just so. Then casting a glance over her shoulder said, "Same time next week?"_**


	2. Chapter 1

**6 Months Later**

The crime scene was being eaten by mother nature. Trash, leaves and everything else not bolted down tore across the courtyard and buffeted against the workers frantically chronicling every detail. It was the kind of wind that took the breath and moved the body. Everyone cowered inside the collars of their coats. Goren had a different perspective. Yes the wind was pushing at him too, but he was in the zone. His jacket hung open and his hair was parted and plastered against his skull with the force of the gusts. He crouched low over the prone partially clothed body of a woman. She was wearing black fitted pants, running shoes and nothing else. No pockets. No purse. No jewellery.

"It's a dump." he shouted over the gales.

"Lividity..." was all he heard Eames say from somewhere over his shoulder, but knew she was on the same page. The ugly purple impressions on the body didn't match her position, which was flat on her back in a basketball court in the South Bronx.

He leaned in closer lifting the victims hand bringing it to his nose. Alex watched him sniff the digits. It had taken close to a decade but she was mostly past her revulsion at the way he manipulated dead bodies. But today (unless he was a bloodhound) her money said there was no way he got a whiff of anything from it, not in these conditions she could barely breathe. Just as the thought occurred, he shook his head in annoyance.

"Can't get..." she heard him bellow in frustration and she nodded in understanding. He stood and raised an arm above his head twirling a long pointed index finger at the medical examiner. **_Wrap it up._ **Alex thought, and like a good translator turned and shouted the sentiment directly in the ear of the mildly annoyed man. The coarse fabric of her coat scraped her lips as they curved into a secret smile. Bobby didn't care about anyone or their feelings at a crime scene. She'd been running interference long enough to know that everyone - even her, his partner of twelve years - was a means to an end when there was a dead body in the vicinity. She'd watched him scale a CSI and use his head for balance. She'd lost count of the times he jostled or tripped over professionals to get at a body. And sometimes he'd clear everyone off a scene with an impatient sweep of his arms like he was Moses and they were the Red Sea (she'd seen an EMT flip him a double bird behind his back for that), but her favourite had to be when he tossed an investigator his shoes so he could straddle a corpse. He had no limits.

"We'll get more at the MEs." she yelled over the gale force wind.

He nodded and gave a insolent roll of his head and eyes. **_I'm being too obvious for his highness_** she thought smirking on the inside. She knew the problem. Like a child Bobby wanted what he wanted, and he wanted it _right_ now.

"Twice as many pictures." he shouted. If he couldn't smell, flex, poke and prod he needed something to fill the dearth of information.

Alex looked at the body dispassionately. There was no sensitivity here, no 'love'. The victim had bruises on her neck, obvious bold impressions from a large hand and there was a gaping a chasm in the chest where the heart should be so that spiked Alex's interest, but just a little. The vics eyes looked up eerily pleading. Was it wrong that the look was familiar now? Was it wrong that that the dead's desperation was something she'd seen a hundred times before? This should never be common, but it was a little.

She glanced back over her shoulder. Searching for Bobby hoping that his dark gaze would ground her a little. She ended up doing a full revolution scanning for him. His large form (which was usually the most prominent thing in any crowd) was gone, just gone. No. Not gone. She marked movement out of the corner of her eye, he was slipping through a rusting metal door into a tenement low rise. She didn't even bother to call out she summoned a couple uniforms and followed.

They all looked like ants, Robert Goren thought from his vantage atop the roof. He could breathe up here. Figuratively not literally. If the body was going to keep secrets then maybe the scene would tell the story. From the ground it was distracting, all flying garbage and writhing bodies. Up here he saw it with the perspective of a God not a man. This chance to shuck his mortality had sent him tearing up the rusty stairwell of 864 Morton Street. He felt a rush, a zing he'd come to realize over the years he had done this job was a heady mix of inspiration and adrenaline.

"The court is out of use." he muttered out of habit, maybe to Eames, usually to Eames, but Eames wasn't there. _**Where the hell is she?**_ He thought distractedly. No bother, right now he didn't care if anyone heard really, he just wanted the observations to have weight and presence. Inside his head the ideas were like vapour. "The hoops are completely missing off their backboards." he expanded aloud "Two ways into the courtyard from the east and to the west." That accounted for the wind tunnel effect. He moved closer to the edge of the roof. "All these buildings are like a front row seat." and his gaze travelled an old rusty chain link fence running around the perimetre.

The sound of footfall on metal echoed as Eames tore up the stairwell after him. She called out clattering through the old rooftop door. She was used to being an afterthought to his passions but she usually got something, some indication that he was about to go off. Her stomach knotted at the picture he painted standing there leaning against the gusts, one leg raised on the ledge of the building, listing into the unsecured 4 storey drop. **_Step back from the edge_** she screamed inside her head. He looked over at her swaying slightly. He caught her eye and with a lift of his brow he moved back onto the asphalt.

"... running off?" he heard her ask.

"...told you." she heard him shout back into the wind.

She grabbed her ear and shook the lobe, mildly exasperated. **_I can't hear you mumbling that you're headed to the roof in the middle of a tornado_** she would have snarked if she'd had an audience. But she didn't, so instead Alex peered over the edge. She could see the scene, the navy blue uniforms, the slow rotation of red and blue made by the silent emergency vehicles. She could see the body of the slain woman now covered by a midnight blue plastic tarp. The yellow tape cordoning the area off. The white coroner's van. It looked like just about every scene she'd visited with Goren over the last 12 years. Granted outside of a handful of jumper (or was that pushed) cases she had never looked at it quite like this, she tilted her head channelling Bobby.

"Spell it out." she said at last close enough to him that her voice was just above normal.

"It looks like thunder dome. Someone had a front row seat."

Alex looked from building to building to building and the square they created around their crime scene. Then she looked to the perfect rectangular windows, hundreds of them row on row, staring like glassy eyes.

Work. All she saw was work.


	3. Chapter 2

Rodgers circled her latest curiosity. A woman approximately 30 years old in pristine physical condition, unless of course you could overlook the thumb sized bruises on her neck and the gaping hole where her heart should be.

"Intercourse?" Eames asked moving in to get a better look, her eyes drawn to the chest wound. It was startling to stare right into the cavity of someones chest.

The examiner's tired owlish gaze had come to signify reason and certainty to the detectives and this time was no different. "She was washed with or at least submerged in water. She was very clean. No water in the lungs so not the COD. Unfortunately for us, not them, it compromised the evidence. As for intercourse my educated guess is yes, there was some tearing but no trace." she propped a fist on one narrow hip and shrugged. "Sorry, but the bath served it's purpose, she even smelled better then your average corpse."

Eames and Goren looked at each other, they were used to the irreverence. The medical examiner continued.

"Her heart was extracted post mortem. Cutting through a human sternum isn't child's play. Your boy was dedicated, and totally out of control. Look at the jagged fleshy edges." She gestured with a latex encased finger. "My guess is the first thrust was made with some gusto, probably like this…" She raised a bone saw above her head and thrust down with two hands.

Eames looked away so she could snicker silently at the visual Rodgers' had painted. Some people were just too comfortable with their jobs. Rodgers let the tool clatter to it's stainless steel pan and continued in standard deadpan drone. "Probably got the job done with a large kitchen knife or possibly a hunting knife with a serrated edge."

"She's remarkably pristine otherwise." They all looked at the woman's refined anglo features, her peaches and cream skin only slightly sallowed by her untimely death. Her head was elevated on a block and her light wavy hair fanned out around it, still damp from the post exam rinse. Goren used two latex covered fingers to lift her hand. He splayed the fingers and moved the flesh this way and that. "No defensive cuts or abrasions." They all knew there was only one reason that a victim wouldn't struggle.

"Tox screen?" The detectives asked in unison.

"Who's buying me a drink?" Rodgers said cheekily as she flipped through some sheets on a clipboard "It looks like she had enough diazepam in her system to immobilize, if not kill her - injected." she gestured at the prone form, "add in the asphyxiation and a missing heart..." Her lips ticked up. Killed three times. She liked the irony.

"Valium?" Eames quipped. "What is this a yuppie killer?"

"Odd technique." Goren offered staring at the victim lost in thought. "Overkill would be an understatement." he muttered.

"It's not overkill." Eames wrinkled her nose, "It's disjointed."

"Sloppy."

"More then one..." Eames started.

"More then one..." Goren offered simultaneously. Their eyes met in agreement.

"Are we going to have a Freaky Friday moment? Or are you actually becoming each other?" the examiner intoned looking between the detectives.

Goren ignored the comment completely, moving slowly around the victim toward the ME's desk. He was aiming to take a look at the documentation, it was there pinned to a city issue navy blue clipboard. But they'd done this particular dance before and Rodgers beat him to it. "Play with your own toys detective." her eyes glancing briefly at his portfolio an arms length away. "your information is in the mail." She gave a thin wan smile waving the board so he got it. Bobby's lips twitched just a little. That surly old shut in. Rodgers her flourescent lights and her dead bodies, just the way she liked it.

"Anything else we need to know?" Eames asked quietly.

"Well she's probably in the system but here's a leg up." she handed her them a credit card. "On the vic."

Alex's brows shot up in surprise "She was shirtless, purseless and the pants had no pockets."

"Ahhhh, gather round" the older woman beckoned " and let me give you a little pop culture tutorial." She proceeded to hold up a pair of black pants. "Lycra and nylon with," she folded back the wide colourful waistband, "a hidden pocket. Commonly worn by yoga and pilates lovers the world over."

"I can't believe I didn't think if that," Alex shook her head. "I have a couple of pairs of those in my closet. That brand is top of the line, they set me back $150 dollars each." Goren raised his eyebrows but kept silent, because some might say he had a fashion 'problem' of his own. Instead he turned his attention to the name on the card. Jane Walston. He said it aloud trying it out on his tongue.

"Anything else?" he asked.

"She was a mother at least twice because VBAC- Vaginal birth after caesarian." Rodgers thought for a moment "she was in great physical condition, lean, muscular. Stomach contents..." she flipped through the sheet. "Quinoa, chicken breast, pear, leek, walnuts. Sugar and spice and everything nice." she quipped. "A very healthy, high quality meal. Other then that..." she let it hang.

Eames moved to the body looking down quietly at the woman committing her to memory, their latest mission.


	4. Chapter 3

"Prints say the victim is indeed Jane Walston." Alex flipped through a sheaf of papers. The preliminary information that accompanied most corpses. Jane Walston was neither off the grid or above it, neither super poor or super rich. "Not so much as a parking ticket."

And boy was this one normal. A teacher, Kindergarten no less, with a husband and 2.5 kids, probably blissfully unaware that their idyllic little life in Haverford, Pennsylvania was about to be ripped to shreds. Alex shook her head. **_A hard one._** She looked at Bobby he wasn't looking at her, at least not dead on, but they had done this so many times. Peripherally he could see the slant of her shoulders the thin line of her lips and knew she was imagining, imagining motherless children. They didn't have to deliver that particular blow - the motherless one - so that was something. Major case. Major tasks. Destroying lives, that didn't rate. Local detectives were on route.

"So this is ours because?"

"Because of the signature." the Captain's voice filled the gap "This distinct an MO has our attention"

"I'm sure we're making some psychopath very happy." Eames couldn't resist adding and Goren's lips twitched. They stood in unison. Following their captain's retreating form and weaving through the clutter of desks and officers in the crowded bullpen. Funny how his back was the only invitation they ever received. Joseph Hannah, always one for pomp moved behind his desk, the power seat, and planted two fists on the wooden surface staring down his subordinates.

"Signature? Are we thinking this is serial?" Goren took a little pleasure speaking first and stealing his thunder.

"You don't?"

"Possible but we think unlikely." Eames added shortly.

Hannah reared up and in his resonant basso profundo asked, "So just what do you think that a Kindergarten teacher from affluent Haverford, PA was doing lying naked, violated and murdered on a basketball court in the Bronx?"

"Nothing innocent I'm sure." Eames leaned on the credenza while Goren sat and flipped furiously through the portfolio balanced on his knees. He stared at a page for a few moments, eventually he snapped the book closed and spoke. "We have no record on Jane Walston. All we know is that in 2008 she had a criminal records check done in order to work with children and in 2003 she was 22 years old and she volunteered a semester as a docent for the office of the Curator of the Supreme Court. As a federal employee she was in IAFIS." He continued "The dumpsite was over a hundred miles from her life. No wallet, only identifying item a credit card, no indication as to what she was doing here." Goren filled in. "The 4 -7 ran a canvas of all 314 apartments overlooking the courts. Didn't yield much. Nothing suspicious no odd sounds. There was a repeated car alarm report at around 3am on October 22nd but that's it, uniforms did a drive by but think it was just a malfunction."

Eames took over, "Based on the effort and the lack of blood it was a obviously a dump. We spoke to neighbourhood watch. The basketball courts were out of use at the time due to vandalism. The last couple of months the whole area has been deserted which might explain the see no evil, hear no evil from almost 1000 potential onlookers. No one was there most days except the odd dealer."

Goren continued "The community was trying to raise the funds necessary to restore the courts, so in the interim the neighbourhoodwatch has been working overtime to keep them from being claimed by a bad element." Eames watched him lift his folio and sling one long leg across the other before continuing. "The watch kept detailed records of each patrol. They made a notations of all illegal activity. Three dealers were witnessed doing business during the 9 week period. Shawn Ralis street name "Ray-Ray". Tobin Ashwell "Big Boy" and Garrett Sikes street name "Tiny."

"Any violent offences?" the captain asked.

"No nothing like this in their history. Dope - small quantities, Crystal Meth, Petty Larceny. Two alibi out. They were in the system at the time. The third, Sikes, is in the wind for now."

"With that sheet it's unlikely he had anything to do with it," Eames ventured "but it would be nice to find Garrett Sikes and get an alibi."

"Pinning down some low life drug dealer?" Hannah shook his head no. "You two are going on a road trip to Philly. Call in."


	5. Chapter 4

Staring out at the road, they made their way to the city limits. Alex felt Bobby beside her absorbed in the small amount of information they'd uncovered so far. Crime scene photos, autopsy findings, toxicology reports, internet printouts of various addresses in Haverford and the names of a few starting point contacts. She saw the spine of a text on killers and their signatures poking out and the printed pages of 'The Haverford Patch' apparently a local newspaper. Bobby loved his background information.

And Alex, well, despite the depravity of the crime this was the moment she loved. Potential. Something always blossomed in her gut right at this moment. Something like adrenaline, like oxytocin because he took this ride with her. It was this moment when the questions were deep and endless, and the answers were few and she knew they were about to tumble around the life of a stranger like leaves in the wind, moving from person of importance, to person of interest. It was all unmapped, it was all spontaneous and they made the journey together. Her friend. Her partner. Everytime for 12 years.

_**Well not every time.**_

A couple of hours later they pulled into an affluent suburban neighbourhood and rolled to a stop in front of a large white colonial. The flower boxes on the windows were overflowing with a riot of mums in red, blue and white. The grass was green, the sky was azure and a grand oak tree out front had almost completely morphed from green to yellow. A rope swing swayed gently in the breeze completing the charming story. Eames sighed heavily, as suspected it was idyllic. They weaved their way up the driveway cluttered with cars. Coincidentally they were both dressed in black coats and pants and she couldn't help but feel a bit like a harbinger of doom. She tried to shake the thought off. This part was never easy.

Bobby shoulder bumped her companionably as they made their way up to the front door. In actuality his shoulder came nowhere near her own at all (even with 3 inch heels on sensible square tipped boots) it was more elbow to bicep. He didn't look at her but she knew it was on purpose. He was reminding her that he was here, anchoring her. She wanted to peer into his soul the way he had hers, soothe his anxieties also, but too soon they were at the door.

They were met by the tear stained face of an older woman, her grey hair set in an elegant bob. Wearing a robin's egg blue sweater set and a pair of beige pants with delicate flats. The smell of money lingered in the air, not a dazzling display but the well heeled look of the upper (upper) middle class. They had come for Jeremy Walston, husband of the deceased. And they found him in his English country living room sitting in a bold floral wing chair. And he was destroyed. One moment staring blindly and the next weeping, his shoulders bouncing with the force of it. This was the unraveling of a love story.

"We are detectives with the Major Case Squad NYPD. We're sorry for your loss, but we have some questions we need to ask about your wife." Alex charged robot-like into the spiel her voice neutral because emotion was uncomfortable ground for this detective.

He nodded pathetically his head hung low. Then seemed to find a burst of strength sitting straight up grinding his eyes with his sleeve and drawing in a wet tortured breath.

"What can I tell you?"

Goren stepped forward and Eames receded like the tides. He pulled a non-confrontational seat to the front left of the man and leaned in earnestly.

"Your wife is a kindergarten teacher?" _Is_ not _was_, never _was_. He began with what he knew.

"With Lanewood Elementary, she's been there for 5 years now."

"She has a conventional workday? 9 to 3? Monday to Friday?"

"3:45." he corrected shakily "Yes 5 days a week."

"Any idea why she might of been in New York City on Monday? Do you know anyone in the city? Specifically the Bronx?"

"The Bronx." The words spilled off his tongue with equal part wonder and disdain. "We would go into New York occasionally for weekends together, the last time was 4 months ago." He smiled remembering. "We saw a show on Broadway. 'Once'."

From behind them, sitting on the formal sofa Eames interjected her voice even and subdued "Can you account for your whereabouts on Monday Mr. Walston."

"I was where I am every Monday. During the day at my offices in Philadelphia. I'm COO at Waterford Homes. We're a luxury home builder."

"Do you have building sites in New York city?"

He shook his head. "Our sites are in greater Philadelphia, Connecticut, Massachusetts, Upstate. New York city is cost prohibitive. We build the bedroom communities. Most of our sites are rural or semi-rural or suburban. Our customers like large lots."

"And the evening?"

"I go to toastmasters on Monday evenings from 6 to 8. Afterward I went out for drinks with some colleagues. It must have been after 11 when I got home. The nanny was here, the kids were asleep of course."

"But your wife wasn't here? Was that out of character?"

"It would have been," He gripped the arms of the chair spasmodically over and over, "if she hadn't told me that she was going on a retreat. Right after her yoga class. She enjoys yoga. She didn't know what time she would arrive home. She told me not to wait up. I spoke to her at around 5pm. It was about to get started. She was fine. She was fine." he repeated anguish slipping in.

"Where was this retreat?"

"West Chester. For the teachers of Lanewood, a professional activity retreat."

The detectives glanced briefly at one another.

"Any other ties to New York?" Goren probed, "Any reason she might have gone for a visit?"

"Friends? Family?" Eames elaborated.

"Um. An estranged aunt" he rubbed one gritty stubbled cheek. "And a cousin. Neither live in the Bronx though."

"Do you mind if we take a look through your wife's room and effects."

A tear slid from one eye and he looked as though he wanted to say no, "The other officers…"

"Left it for us." Eames was firm but compassionate. They were behind the eight ball on this one - a woman far from home, a husband in the dark, no real evidence - step one was to understand the victim.

He relented with sharp nod and a wave of his hand.

Fifteen minutes later and elbow deep in underwear Eames had found no scraps of paper, no flash drives, no bizarre items of clothing. They'd collected all of her devices - laptop, tablet - as a matter of rote but with no real expectations.

"Here's something!" she exclaimed a little too excitedly. A locked diary tucked deep under the the king sized marital bed inside the mattress cover.

"Nice find." Goren moved in from the dressing room "And this." he held up a key ring a few small keys on it. He ticked through them "Luggage, locker" he shoved the third in to a the metal clip on the book and it popped open."diary." Goren turned each page slowly and with purpose. "Nothing." he pronounced. "it's full of daily affirmations and things she's thankful for." The sweetness of the woman's words grated against the brutality of her death and against him.

"Something else, a coffee card only valid at one location in NYC - Java Hut. Four cups stamped, two more and she gets a freebie." Eames added.

He held up a leather bound book "And this daytimer." flipped the pages slowly shaking his head. "Not much" he added still reading "She was very organised but it's all very predictable. Dentist appointments for her children. A birthday party this weekend. This level of order is either OCD or the perks of money." he murmured to himself. The house had a weekly cleaning service and of course the children had a live in nanny.

"Bit of both" Alex suggested.

"Hyper-organized from her planner, to the tags on her hangers marking specific outfits for specific days of the week, and here" he held up a daytimer "the way she writes, large, controlled, even."

"That last quirk is probably a teacher thing."

He nodded conceding that.

Eames glanced around the beautifully appointed room one more time then sighed. And Goren read it: frustration, boredom, a pinch of annoyance. "I think this is all we're going to get here."


	6. Chapter 5

They walked back to the SUV anxious to get out of the Walston home and it's oppressive sadness. From the outside looking in no one would ever know how hard it was. The pair of them, Goren and Eames, navigating the front steps of the home. Speeding away from the pain and grief. Sucking in the fresh air, guiltily thankful that they could leave. They made sure to purge their bodies and faces of any emotion the way good detectives should, at once sombre and completely inscrutable. Eames, a few paces ahead of Goren, crooked her neck to ask.

"What do you think?"

"Genuine emotion. I believe them."

"Me too."

It was always nice when things were a bit hinky from the get go. This time it was clearly going to be a long and winding road.

"I wouldn't mind a little obvious right about now. A dripping knife. A confession." She said wondering (as she did at this point in _every_ case) if this would be the one that got away. Their unsolved mystery.

Goren gave a dry chuckle, because they both knew they _always_ had to work for it. _Obvious_ wasn't in the Major Case purview.

"A loving husband. Beautiful children. Thriving career. Lots of help. A great life by all accounts." he surveyed the setting, slowing his step to look around.

She stopped at the foot of the driveway. "Jane wrote everything down except why the heck she went to New York." Alex laughed because every case was the same. It was always about a secret. Some secret that did all the damage. And then when the lie came home to roost, when someone died, it fell to them (the only ones in the world with the time, resources and objectivity) to set it to rights, to find some kind of justice. But it was a needle in a haystack, or more aptly a dead Kindergarten teacher in the projects.

"The retreat..."

"Yeah she was covering for something. The Bronx is light years from West Chester."

"An affair?"

"Probably. It's the most the plausible scenario, what, with this set-up?" Alex gestured at their pretty surroundings. "Hard to imagine Jane Walston being dissatisfied with anything other then her relationship."

"Is this another dream you had as a little girl?" he teased.

"The burbs?" She huffed, giving him a tight smile. "No. If it's not a Park Avenue mansion I think I'll stay a city gal." He had a good memory. The Harringtons.

"This is a good place to raise kids."

"Yeah, well that ship has sailed." he thought he heard a hint of wistfulness in her voice but she was facing away so he couldn't be sure.

"For you and me both." he nodded moving toward the SUV.

"Next stop," She dropped the car keys and bent for them. "Lanewoo..." her voice fell away. He'd averted his eyes quickly, but not quickly enough. She'd seen the look, the look he'd given her from behind. Moreover she _knew_ the look. It was the look a man gave a woman. And she _understood_ his tell - eyes to feet. He always dropped his eyes and/or rubbed his neck when things got uncomfortable.

**_His feet right after staring at my butt._**

Shock ricocheted through her. He'd been checking her out. Right here, on a case, in suburban Pennsylvania he'd suddenly decided she was a woman. Her mouth hung loose for a moment. But she closed it quickly. She had to brainwash herself into believing her own eyes. She repeated it inside her head because after 12 years she trusted Bobby more then herself. She gave her head a little shake. **_Okay calm down Alex_**. In all fairness she had displayed herself right in front of him. And men liked to look right? But she immediately knew it was all wrong. There was no way. To Bobby her body was like was like a rock, or a curb, or a chair leg. A tripping hazard. To Bobby she took up physical space. But sexually? She was completely irrelevant. She was sure of it.

_**Apparently not. **_A small voice taunted.

And she just stood there. Not sure what to do. Part of her was afraid that if she charged in in her usual frank way she might damage something new and weak. But still, she was Eames. She was scrappy. It was just her nature. So she held her ground and waited until he lifted his guilty eyes. And she grabbed onto them tightly with her own. Furrowing her brow. Saying '**_What the hell Bobby?'_** with one long look. He just shrugged and she read it: sheepish and bit sorry.

So much of their communication was non-verbal these days. Suddenly she was realizing how little they actually talked to each other. Even _this_ didn't rate a discussion. He moved past her and she got in front of him a little, still not satisfied, cutting off his path to the vehicle. Looking up into his eyes again. This time she was the one that faltered, because there wasn't any guilt at all. There was heat. His gaze hot and steady. Confident even. They had a little standoff there on the grassy patch outside the car. She had expected Bobby to buckle but she was the one that said uncle and turned away first.

As she rounded the car she turned and looked at him again. Afraid she'd imagined the whole thing. And he was _still staring_. And she was still deeply puzzled because his gaze didn't feel normal or concerned or even affable, it just felt… intense.

"What?" she said at last, a bit exasperated. Unable to bear the ambiguity of the moment.

"Nothing." he said looking away to pull open the door to the SUV.

Eames stopped behind the car pretending to do something in the trunk. Lifting the hatch, zipping and unzipping the bag she kept in there, taking a few deep breaths. This wasn't her first timeout. This change, this subtle shift, had been happening with them for at least a couple of months now. Maybe longer. Maybe 5 or 6 months. Maybe after Danielle and PJ with their spectacularly violent and public meltdown. Or maybe it had been the case just after Kizmate. Arjun and Diya Lakshmi, a brutal honour killing. It was hard to say. Both of those cases had brought up so many powerful questions about the nature of love and commitment.

And putting aside the _why_ of it all, what about the _how_. His method. What accounted for his new 'sloppiness'. Allowing her to watch him, watching her. Allowing her to _know_. Last week she had been driving and she'd looked over to find him considering her, his eyes scanning the side of her face, darting around harshly over every inch like she was some book he was speed reading. Then two days ago he had touched her, he had put his hand on her elbow and let it linger as they walked up Madison Avenue.

One thing Alex knew about her partner after all this time was that he always had a plan. He was calculating. He premeditated. He loved to slowly reveal his position and he treasured the unexpected. Which was why she was positive that this wasn't just a confluence of unrelated events. He wanted to her to _know_ he was seeing her, to _know_ he was desiring her. At least that's what the evidence seemed to indicate, and she liked evidence.

_**What the hell do you want me to do now that I know Goren?**_ She thought slamming the trunk a bit angrily, because anger was comfortable. She wore anger, irritation, solemnity like an invisibility cloak. **_Where's Eames? Oh, she's right there, you can't see her because she's so miserable._**

She stopped reaching for the door handle of the SUV paralyzed by this train of thought. Through the glass he was adjusting his bulky frame into the vehicle.

"You coming?" he called. There was playfulness in his voice and it immediately neutralized her.

"Do I have a choice? I doubt you remember how to drive this thing." and she hopped in and threw it into gear.


	7. Chapter 6

Alex let the GPS lead the way, working through Haverford's network of small streets. Her mind still stuck on what had happened. Maybe he was having a midlife crisis, not some great shift in his feelings toward her. Maybe he was just restless. Maybe she was his final frontier. The only thing he hadn't done. She actually made herself blush.

A change, he might just be looking for a change. It felt like they'd been together forever but it was really only 12 years. 12 years packed with ten lifetimes worth of emotion, and tension and fear and grief and friendship. Tempered friendship, she admitted, but still friendship.

When they'd met his mind had drawn her in first, all that information, all that trivia, all that obsessive compulsive borderline behaviour. Bobby's unpredictable energy had made her feel alive again. She'd been comfortably numb since Joe. Bobby had been like a hit of caffeine (_**make that cocaine**_). At first, for a year at least, it had worried her, all the chaos. Work had been a blur of his frenzied hands and his tilting head. It had been about hatching elaborate plans in the corridor and assigning roles "Okay you play it weak and young…" He'd say. With her promotion to Major Case she'd wanted textbook. To work hard and stay and under the radar. But her partner, he'd had other plans.

In years two through three of their partnership all she'd admitted was fascination. He was nothing if not fascinating. She'd laughed a lot back then, all young and engaged and a little mesmerized. Then around year four, a sea change, one day she'd just known her heart was involved.

All those years. They'd been through the wringer together and he was finally okay. She didn't want to oversell it by saying he was great. He was okay. Weren't we all just okay anyway? Some days hanging by our nails, others winning the race? She'd looked (man had she looked) examined him from every angle since they'd been back and since he'd started his mandatory therapy. And she'd concluded that he really had healed. After years of loss and sadness that shrink was doing a lot of good.

That wasn't to say they still didn't have their triggers. The raised red bumps that sometimes needed scratching, even though they were sure to bleed. They were both very human. Even though she'd forgiven his betrayals ever so often she'd let a well placed "That figures." or "Humph," cast doubt on his honesty. And he might see her flinch when she read a case file that said the vic 'was stabbed with shears' or 'he kept her locked in a basement' and he flinched as well because… well because guilt, even 5 years later.

And then there were the holidays. She had that clan of crazy-makers and meddlers she called a family. 3 siblings and their 6 hellion children. Throw in grandpa and sometimes even cousin Ed and Aunt Irene and it was pandamonium. But as she was about to leave work for another celebration, or sign off for Christmas she'd glance at her partner. Her partner shuffling his papers, not making eye contact. And she'd remember. And her cheer would leave her. And her heart would plummet. Because the contrast of all of her _somebodies_ to his _nobodies_ was kind of tough to take.

Because she loved him.

She really loved him.

So without a word (almost ritualistically now) she'd pack up her bag and his binder, throw his coat over her arm and say "Let's go." His hemming and hawing was the only thanks she needed. Sometimes he'd even manage to do a runner (temporarily) because when they sliced the turkey, or flipped the burgers, (or once) even handed out the candy he was there beside her. Beside in the metaphysical sense. Because they'd walk into her brother's house and he'd get the round of masculine hoots and back slaps from the boys and disappear with them. Sticking to her would be odd. He wasn't a husband or a boyfriend after all. But still he was there.

So much time. So many changes. If her mind (_her life)_ were a pie chart a 90% slice would be marked 'Bobby' and a 10% slice marked 'Everything Else'.

These were the thoughts that came to her as she drove them around a small unfamiliar town in Pennsylvania after he'd stared at her ass.


	8. Chapter 7

Lanewood Elementary School was newly renovated. From the curb the original historical school house facade was a salute to the past, but it was clear that the business of learning was now going on in a new enormous (if not utilitarian) square brick addition soaring up behind it. Off to the side sat the library, a modern a work of art. The architectect had wrapped the heritage building in a glass treasure box, protecting the old hand laid stone and messy mortar from the elements. It looked like a snapshot in time.

The obvious cost of the project punched well above it's weight as elementary schools went. And Eames was treated to a 10 minute extemporaneous display of Bobby's affection for local history. He proceeded to lay out the importance of the building. Something about local trends in education. Something about the first racially integrated classroom. Honestly sometimes she hung on every word, other times blah blah blah blah blah. She was about to snap at him because her mind couldn't handle any more non-essential information today, but held her tongue.

Once inside, the office was sign posted to the left, and the cafeteria to the right. Bobby moved to the left and she felt the heat of a chivalrous hand hovering warmly over the small of her back. Her stomach clenched and she sped away from it. Did he do that? Did he guide her with his hands now? Her head was about to explode with the rate things were changing.

Mrs. Montgomery was the principal and she was eager to assist, positively eager. Not in a morbid way, just in that 'we are all so horrified please use us' way. Alex sat while Bobby worked off his pent up energy wandering around reading book spines and picking up photographs. He pointed and laughed out loud at one of the documents on the wall. Eames picked some lint off her pants and rolled her eyes.

"My degree from the University of Hard Knocks." the principal went over and stood beside Goren laughing along with him "I had that document printed up and framed. I thought rather then running from it it would be good for my kids to know that adversity does not mean failure." Mrs. Montgomery unbuttoned her bright red blazer and took a seat behind her desk, clearly feeling the need to explain, "I was orphaned at a young age and only managed to get my act together late in life. I got my GED in my 30's, became a teacher in my 40's and now at 49 I'm here. I'm proud of that, and the children respond to honesty."

Eames nodded. She liked this woman. Probably because she recognized a fellow straight shooter. The conversation soon turned to Jane Walston.

"Did Jane have a any close friends on staff? Anyone that might have some insight into her personal life?" Alex initiated once they were all settled into the slightly institutional office.

"She did have a connection with Gigi, that's short for Georgina Lamont. Ms. Lamont. I can't speak to what they did outside of school hours, but in staff meetings, BBQ's, assemblies they always seemed to end up together."

"Was there anything else you noticed, any obvious tension? Any complaints?" Goren asked shifting in his seat.

"I can honestly say that Jane was a treasure. Soft spoken, maternal, gentle, smart, dedicated. Everything you'd want in a kindergarten teacher. And her 5 years with us were blemish free, except for one incident with Nathan Lipinski. He's the school trustee."

"What was the nature of the problem?" Alex leaned in.

"It was business. He initiated removal of funding for teacher assistance JK through grade 5, a budget cut. It felt very punitive. Kindergarten teachers especially rely heavily on that partnership in the classroom to get things accomplished. Anyway, Jane didn't take it lying down. She rallied support in the community, she got a petition going. He didn't back down and lost his seat in the next election cycle. Jane and all other affected teachers, got their assistants back with the next trustee. I'm sure the animosity dissipated though because he was just restored as regional trustee about 4 months ago. He attended our first school assembly as a special guest, he and Jane shook hands, bygones seemed to be bygones."

Goren and Eames exchanged a look privately because Eames thought Municipal politics were like watching paint dry.

"What about tension with students. We know that the children in her charge are young and no children here at Lanewood are over 12, but sometimes little incidents can escalate... with parents…" Bobby left it hanging hoping she would fill in the blanks.

"Parents." The principal thought for a few moments. "Well nothing that stands out. I can check our records." she moved to a file cabinet continuing to speak "It's a teacher's job to deal with the parent's…" she looked for the right word "idiosyncrasies, as well as genuine concerns." she shrugged slightly. "We get multiple complaints a week, related mostly to curriculum, behaviour, miscommunication. Nothing stands out." she shook her head looking into the open file "No notations, no sanctions."

Goren played their hunch, "Was there a professional activity retreat for teachers on the 21st of October?"

The principal didn't hesitate. "No, our last activity day was last year. We haven't had one yet this year. "

Again Goren's eyes grabbed Eames'. Secrets. Secrets and lies.

"Is Ms. Lamont at school today?"

"Yes I can have her come down."

Gigi Lamont didn't look like the stripper her name implied. She was short. No short wasn't a word Alex used, she prefered compact, dainty, petite. And Ms. Lamont was heavy set with wild curly blonde hair. She had fun dancing blue eyes that upon mention of her friend became desperately sad. She didn't have any useful insights. As they were about to leave she added tears welling in her eyes,

"You know Jane was a good person her life was home, the kids here at Lanewood and yoga. That's it. No dirty secrets, no time to get up to anything."

Yoga. Again.

"Do you have the name of the studio where she practiced?" Goren asked.


	9. Chapter 8

They made their way across the parking lot of Lanewood Elementary. It was recess. The air was a cacophony. Screams and laughter and the discordant squeak and squawk of metal swing sets and merry go rounds met their ears. Alex looked out over the grassy yard at the little bodies in colourful coats and rubber boots. **_To be young_** she thought. No idea about the realities of life. No concept of the kind of sick and entitled people that she met everyday. Maybe she and Bobby were making a difference. She really hoped they were. The young voices at play floated, following them out over the sea of cars until they clambered into the SUV and slammed the doors with a loud solid _thunk_. It cut the joyful sounds so abruptly that to Alex it felt as though someone had clapped hands over her ears. And it was just her and Bobby inside their little cabin of solace, the Ford Explorer was a world of their own.

"As motives go losing a municipal election isn't exactly sexy." She turned to face him before leaving the lot, her knee resting behind the gear shift. He mirrored her minus the leg. It was impression time.

"No and I can't really see a trustee breaking out a hunting knife and taking down the local kindergarten teacher. What do you think? A grudge?"

She shook her head. They both knew people had comfort zones even in murder. It was doubtful that a Haverford resident had perpetrated this crime. Not impossible, but doubtful. "Everyone seems so squeaky clean and earnest." she said with disgust. And he laughed.

"You've been on the job too long."

"Tell me about it." The job was in her pores now, under her fingernails, she could practically taste the job, it was a bit bitter.

"It'll be worthwhile to go to the Yoga studio. It seems like it was one of the pillars of her life. I'll bet it's a petrie dish of bodily fluids and intrigue. Maybe we'll find that affair we've been after." his lips quirked.

Eames nodded. An affair would push this along, sure, but affairs were also complicated. "Careful what you wish for."

"Yeah and I'm starting to like this vic."

"Really, why?"

"I don't know, maybe because she works with kids, advocates for them." he thought of his own messy childhood. He could have used a champion. "But she likes yoga so we're about to see her flakey side." He reached behind and pulled the seatbelt across his chest and secured it with a sharp hard click.

"I like yoga." Alex said softly.

"You?" he was surprised, really surprised. His head went back, his eyebrows went up at least half an inch.

"Yeah, hot yoga, for 6 months now. My sister got me on the bandwagon. I go with her and sweat my guts out once a week."

"Sweat." he repeated.

"Drenched." She nodded, then decided to add "That's the point. Being nearly naked in intense temperatures." His look was priceless. And she was enjoying this innuendo so much. "The sweating and stretching detoxifies. Bet you didn't know your partner was so trendy did you?" she said delight in her eyes.

But he was fixated on the word naked. _**Naked ... Eames**_. He drew in a sharp breath at the thought "I can't see it, you and yoga."he said at last rubbing his palms across the navy blue fabric of his trousers, his warm eyes probed hers. She saw amusement there, and she was right, he was happy with this small insight into her private life.

Bobby knew his partner was a bit of a fit freak. She liked her sugary treats, but he also knew she went to the City gym three or four times a week, she also ran on her off days. Her popping biceps had drawn his eye more then once, so he deduced that she liked weights and strength training. That fit his image of her. Eames pressing iron. Eames pushing the limits, adding an extra ten plate to her free weights. And he also knew that last year during their time away from the force she'd been training for a half marathon. Eames in sweats pounding the pavement. Eames dodging and zipping around pedestrians on a busy New York street. But yoga? He figured she would have opinions about yoga 'types'. It seemed like such trendy hobby. Not to mention gentle and introspective. Not that Eames wasn't introspective or gentle. But she was all about the job, being pumped, being strong, being sharp, being respected and up to the task. Knowing that he couldn't completely read her, knowing she had secrets, knowing that she could meditate and move with slow soft steadiness, knowing he couldn't predict her behaviour after all this time filled him with something. Hope. Strange, but it filled him with hope.

"Well believe it buddy." she kidded him "I'm very flexible." _**Whoa TMI Alex.**_

"I'll bet." he said and she wished she could liquify and drain out of the car, what he must be thinking. Instead of giving in to the desire to bury her face in her hands, she pushed past that bizarre note. "It's one of the 5 principles of physical fitness." she gripped and squeezed her own shin as she spoke.

"What?"

"Flexibility. I've been working out for most of my life and never gave it much time in my routine until now."

"Something in common with our vic." he mused "Maybe we'll get something at..." he flipped through his notes "Namaste Yoga." She turned and engaged the engine and he reached out to program the GPS.

"Maybe."

Before putting the car in gear she glanced at him once more, he was still looking at her with some new emotion. She gave him a small smile, something she rarely did without irony. And he smiled back warmly. In the spirit of this new friendship she reached a single finger out and impetuously dabbed at his cheek.

"Eyelash." she murmured. It was simple contact. But something exciting happened in that moment.

Her voice faltered "M-make a wish." she held out her finger.

"Sure." he closed his eyes and tilted his head back then leaned in and on a puff sent the lash sailing away. She felt his warm gusty breath on her lips and chin. Suddenly he seemed very very close. She turned quickly and slid the car into drive.

She'd touched him. She felt a zing.

She never did that.

**_Well, at least not when you aren't being fired or quitting, respectively._**

And she certainly never touched his face. But today felt different. Today it felt like he'd wanted her to. And today she had wanted to. She gripped the wheel tightly steering the car out and onto Mulberry Lane.


	10. Chapter 9

Namaste Yoga Studio was quite large. They stood in the reception atrium with 2 storeys of classes going on all around them. The size of the place was worrying because they might not get the intimate information they hoped for. The front desk, was one long seasoned plank made to look like driftwood stained and lacquered full of dips, pits and grooves. Contemporary yet natural. The scene was enhanced by green walls - a fresh modern citrus green. Behind the desk was a scrubbed rosy very young woman in grey and pink yoga gear with 'Mindy' etched into a smaller piece of driftwood and pinned to her chest.

Goren stepped up and told her their business. Her hand flew to her throat. "The community here at Namaste has been so upset by this."

Alex revised her initial impression, the woman was young in appearance but her voice was strong and sure. She was older then she appeared maybe 28 or 29?

"And you are?"

"Mindy Cohen, owner."

That sealed it. Much older then the original guess, of 19 to 23. "Do you keep detailed records of member comings and goings? Jane Walston's favourite classes that sort of thing." Bobby asked.

"We're totally automated." Said the woman proudly "Every member gets a swipe card to enter the facilities. All our classes are subject to availability so members log their intent to attend by swiping again, that way other members can see if a class is full on a lcd outside the door. We keep that information for a month. So we can target our promotions based on actual attendance patterns."

"Impressive." Bobby smiled again. "Can we have a printout of Jane's attendance?" Mindy returned the gaze and her cheeks turned pink. Alex let her eyes dart back and forth between them. Picking up on a pattern of flirtation. She'd never seen so many of Bobby's teeth in one sitting. And this fitness person was really irritating her. _**Come on girl he's old enough to be your father!** _Mindy seemed undaunted by that fact.

Alex crossed her arms involuntarily, her lips pressed tightly together. In that moment, somewhere in her mental archive she flashed back briefly to Frank's ex, Evelyn. Evelyn had once said that Frank could still pull after all these years. Alex could hear the woman's inflection ringing in her ears like it was yesterday. It was one of those things that had just stuck with her. Looking now at her partner Alex realised that Frank had nothing on Bobby. The charisma. The flirting waitresses, the longing secretaries, the befuddled heiresses.

Bobby could pull.

She hated that Bobby could pull.

A wave of annoyance crashed over her right now. She tapped an impatient foot listening to their loaded banter. Normally she would ignore this kind of interaction. Normally she reminded herself that he was her partner and his loyalty to her extended beyond any one case, witness or suspect. And normally that worked. Today it didn't.

Mindy touched his wrist lightly as they continued chatting. And Alex talked herself down, it was innocent she told herself. Sometimes this was the job - greasing the wheel. What really made her squirm were the things she wondered, the things she didn't know. Sexual Bobby made her uncomfortable. She wondered if this weren't a case, and if they weren't a hundred miles from home, would he be asking Mindy out? The woman looked willing, so maybe he would skip that formality and take her back to his place?

She shook the forbidden thoughts loose just as Mindy said "Our records and tech support are off site. I'll be right back." Then the yoga instructor flitted off to call IT and she flitted quite gracefully. Everything was high and tight on that woman, and Alex noticed her partner noticing, instantly feeling less special, instantly feeling catty.**_ Maybe he's in just heat and anything with breasts will do._**

There was a lounge and juice bar adjacent reception, Alex walked a bit stiff legged to one of the contemporary styled hammock seats dotted about. The hanging seat was made of hot pink fabric that soared to the 10 foot tall ceiling. She sat and found herself swinging slightly, feet just grazing the floor. She felt about 10 years old - maybe that was the point of having such whimsical chairs. Thumbing through a catalogue of high end yoga gear on glossy laminated pages she tried to purge her mind of Goren. It worked for about 15 minutes.

She looked up at him through thick lashes and her wayward mind went on a journey of it's own. She watched Bobby fidget, tap his fingers like they were on the keys of a piano, then lean lazily against the desk and stand up straight, then walk around and around the room in wide circles with his hands clasped behind his back. She felt something. A tug. In the region of her heart. **_Dammit._** He was doing this to her, making her fixate, giving her something to think about. Something that had nothing to do with Jane Walston. **_This right here is why partners should never get involved._** She dug her nails deep in to her palm trying simultaneously to punish and distract herself. He was wearing blue today. Sky blue. His best colour. She sighed and flipped another laminated page, hard.

Eames and Goren sat huddled head to head, thigh to thigh looking at Jane Walston's activity log printout for the previous 30 day period. They were rocking ever so slightly in a hammock chair together. It was another new bit of intimacy, physical closeness. Her thigh jammed right up against his. His warmth seeping into her. Their fingers brushing as they passed the pages they'd finished reading back and forth. She would've loved a picture of this (for blackmail) big Bobby Goren ensconced in a pink hammock. When he'd come toward her with the paperwork they sought, Alex had patted the seat beside her meaning for him to sit. He'd looked at the swinging cushioned contraption dubiously.

"Live a little Goren." she'd urged playfully shimmying over.

"If this thing comes down I'm suing" he'd joked as he sat gingerly. She thoroughly enjoyed watching him be careful, because no one would ever call him delicate.

"Joist mounted they're rated up to a thousand pounds." her eyes twinkled. He gave her a quizzical look and she admitted "They're for sale, I just read about them in the catalogue."

Presently they were both baffled by what they were reading. Jane Walston's interests were so varied. It looked like she was taking one of each class offered. And she was coming in at least 4 days a week.

"And I thought I was committed to being fit" Alex mused. "Wellness - check, Homeopathy - check, Namaste - check, Mom and Baby - check, Outdoor stretch - check, Bikram - check." There were even classes names they didn't understand like 'Aum' and 'Re' check and check. Every class. Jane Walston was in every single class. Goren made eye contact with Mindy beckoning her over. She was there in a heartbeat. Goo goo eyes and all.

"C-can you help us with this. We can't seem to... Was Jane Walston really taking all these classes? And this frequently?"

"Yeah. If it says she was. I didn't know her all that well but she was here _a lot_." Mindy bent low and leaned close to Bobby. Close enough to lay one on him if she wanted, Alex gave her a look of disgust that she didn't see. "Yeah she was a busy girl. This looks to me like she was trying to get her certification." she pushed up on his knee to stand. Alex let her eyes follow every liberty.

"Let me call Naomi down. She'll know if Jane was on the track." Naomi Grenwall was the partner and co-owner of Namaste. And she was another very beautiful physically fit woman.

"Jane asked me about 8 months ago what it would take to become a Registered Yoga Teacher. Since we're a registered yoga school it was a simple time commitment. She was well on her way to completion She'd done her 200 hours. I think she really wanted to find a way to bring this art to her kids… Students." She clarified.

"What did she have left to do?"

"Well, technically nothing, but I trained under a Yogi in New York. Absolutely amazing. The kind of teacher that changes your life and takes the way you practice to a new level. I suggested she try a week under his tutelage. It was hard to find space in his class but I still know the owner. And a week isn't the most time, but really any time this man can spare..."

Goren and Eames looked at each other as if to say _**finally the New York connection**_.

"It wasn't in the Bronx." She rushed out. "The studio - Gaiam is in SoHo. I know she took the Acela, she didn't want the aggravation of driving. She only drove as far as the station."

"Her husband didn't say anything about this."

"She seemed anxious about that. She said he wouldn't want her alone in the city at night. I don't know maybe she never mentioned it?"


	11. Chapter 10

"Captain... Yes... We're headed back after that." Bobby listened to one side of the conversation as Eames both updated the brass and drove them to 30th Street Station. At exactly the same moment Philadelphia PD were executing a warrant inside the terminal. They needed to know if Jane Walston's car had been impounded. And they needed a thorough search of that vehicle. Bobby and Alex were right behind them with a key. A key they had found at the Walston residence earlier that day, a key to a locker they were guessing was inside that terminal.

"Do you want me to drive?" He asked.

She gave him a look. "No I'm fine."

"How about on the 2 hour stretch back?"

"No I'm fine." she said again a bit tightly.

"Anything the matter?

"No."

He had his hot gaze on her. But she ignored him. Lost in thought. _**I want you to stop flirting... forever! **_She couldn't exactly drop that bomb into casual conversation. So she sealed her lips up tight.

"What are you thinking about?"

"The case." she lied not looking at him. He waited for her to elaborate. She didn't.

"Well Namaste wasn't exactly a petrie dish but at least now we've got this thing moving."

"Yeah, it's good we made it there."

"What do you think she'll be keeping in the locker?"

"Yoga gear." Alex said with a wry smile looking at him briefly, her eyes were smiling too.

He loved it when she smiled "Yeah this one is a straight arrow."

"Yeah."

"You know what this means."

"We might end up with a WPWT." she said and he nodded. This one meant 'wrong place wrong time.' Sometimes they used these cute little acronyms. In the old days crime fighting had been so analog and Bobby held on to a lot of that with his pens and paper and landlines. But she had finally managed to drag him into the 21st century and now he texted her all the time (although he'd constantly cursed his big fingers) some of that texting had bled into regular conversation.

"And the heart thing?" he asked then added "Speculate wildly."

"A diversion? No." she changed her mind, keeping her eyes trained on the road. "I think it was some tweaker. High as a kite, hallucinations. It doesn't feel like a serial."

He nodded briefly. "It does seem measured and then frenzied."

"Two people."

"Two definitely. The significance of the dump?"

"Well canvassing all of those apartments turned up nothing."

"But the neighbourhood watch, the dealers, that's something."

"No word on Sikes yet, but if he dips into his own product…" He let it hang.

She nodded, "The organised part of this pair could be more problematic."

"And what the heck connects them."

"We'll get there." She said with utter confidence. Not a fool's confidence either, she could count on her fingers the ones that had gotten away.

He nodded they were on the same page, but that was no surprise. Then he said something totally unconnected, insane really.

"Yoga is sexy."

Her head turned so quickly she almost got whiplash. "What did you just say?"

"I said, yoga is sexy."

Then she smiled fully as realization dawned. "I think you mean that those ladies, the ones that were fawning all over you, are sexy." she shot him a look.

He smiled back. "It's something about the badge."

"So you noticed."

"Yeah this time I did."

"Must be nice." She watched the trees and lightposts fly by, along with the bumper of a Fiat in front of them. **_It's not the badge Bobby it's raw sex appeal._**

"Maybe, if I were looking for a date with a woman 20 years my junior 2 hours from home."

"I don't know, that Mindy..." she let out a low whistle.

"Funny. Very funny." he stared into the darkening world. The sun was just a surreal orange circle disappearing below the horizon.

"That little pink and grey number." she kept it up.

"Is that similar to what you wear?"

"What?" He caught her by surprise. But again she couldn't see his eyes.

"Hot yoga."

Ohhhh this again. This felt kind of nice, this casual banter in the twilight. Then she thought maybe part of him was testing her, trying to poke holes in this 'story' that she liked yoga. Well she could shock him too.

"No, no." she paused. "I wear much less." he coughed then. And she could have clasped her hands in glee. She didn't of course, she didn't move a muscle. But immediately she wanted to wring more reactions from him, so she teased again. "I wear little spandex shorts and a sports bra."

"Oh …Uh…"

"It's fun." she added before this start to sound like a by-the-minute sex call. "You wouldn't even know me," she smiled. "So much pattern, bright colour. So much skin." she laughed, another zinger, he squirmed uncomfortably. She went on "It serves the purpose anyway, for all the moving, bending and sweating." Now she was babbling. "I was a bit self conscious at first I have to admit. Sticking my butt in the air - downward dog - and oh there was this little mishap with a couples yoga class. I thought I could partner with my sister and ended up in suggestive positions with a man, a complete stranger...

"So." he cut her off sharply "You really are into it."

"You still don't believe it." She turned to look at him and he was finally looking back with a quizzical brow.

"Okay, this is crazy. Now I really want to know how you view me." They arrived at the train station and double parked out front. "At home, alone, no hobbies, no friends?"

"Saved by the train." he said in fun hauling out of the car.

"I'll remember." she promised.

* * *

The car was here. Jane's. They could have spent a month looking for it if they hadn't followed the evidence. They split up. Bobby went to find the locker. And Alex stayed with forensics at the vehicle. It was a late model Audi SUV. Fitting for a well-off school teacher Alex thought, nice but not ostentatious. Inside was a travel mug in the cup holder with Java Hut emblazoned across the front. There were receipts for gas and one for groceries just essentials. There was finally a scrap of paper marked John followed by a number with a NYC prefix. It was stuffed in the space beneath the dash with the gum and mints. Alex was starting to think this woman had gotten killed for being regular. It didn't take long for the car to be cleared. No crime had taken place here.

"Anything?" her partner materialised. She held up the paper in a small evidence bag

"You?"

"Yoga gear." he tipped an imaginary hat to her. "Let's go home."

Home. Not 1PP. Not the precinct. Not even New York. Home. She warmed at the word.


	12. Chapter 11

"Things to do in the dark 90 miles from home?" he started a game his voice sounding low and lazy.

"Sleep."

"Fiddle with cell." he added.

"Switch radio stations endlessly." she threw in punching a preset.

"Play I spy. The dials and gauges version."

"Truth or dare. Heavy on the truth unless you dare me to drive recklessly." She smiled in the dark.

"Make out."

She gasped and managed to choke on it. She couldn't believe her ears. It took her a few moments, but she screwed up her courage and called his bluff. "You want me to pull over so we can?"

"Maybe I do." **_Bluff not called!_ **His finger was tap tap tapping quickly and rhythmically on his leg.

"What is going on with you?" She really wanted to know and she didn't do vague. "There's this shift with us."

"I feel like..." Now she could feel his joggling leg rocking the whole car. "I feel like we might be missing something. Missing an opportunity."

"This just occurred to you?" she went along, keeping her voice even. Talking about this, about them like it was nothing, an everyday occurrence. "I've been right here for 12 years. Children born when we started this aren't far off high school."

"Yeah I know." he nodded in the darkness and she wished she could see the subtle stuff, the emotion in his face, the small gestures. "Just tell me if you want to drop this. I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"You couldn't do that."

"Then pull over."

"You're serious?"

"I'm serious."

If he was, then so was she. She took the next exit off the freeway and pulled onto the soft shoulder. Then turned slightly. Her crazy heart, it was about to beat out of her chest again. She couldn't believe this was happening. She had an attack of nerves. So instead of searching for the promised kiss she calmed herself by saying. "Answer a question from earlier?"

"What's that?"

"Why are you so surprised that I would enjoy a hobby like Yoga? You see me as a unabomber type? Reclusive, angry, not playing well with others?"

She heard laughter rumble in his throat. "No. I see you as smart, beautiful, strong woman." Her heart. Her poor heart was too weak for this. He had never said anything like this. Ever. She tried to ignore the crazy thumping in her chest with a flip comment.

"You do? I didn't think you realized I was a woman."

"Oh I know you're a woman." he said in a way that thrilled her and terrified her at once. "But," he nodded slowly maybe coming to a personal realisation, "you're a complicated woman. Serious, realistic, let's face it you don't take any..." shit. She filled in mentally as he said it. "Eames you can shred people with your mouth."

She let out a guffaw at that.

"You're the queen of the sharp one liner."

"A dark version of Hallmark."

"Yeah just like that." she heard him smile. "So I guess I thought maybe you wouldn't be a natural joiner. Especially with the new agey stuff."

"Well I'm not." She conceded at last, "So you're right. But I'm related to someone who is. Someone who is light and fluffy and trendy and happy and always game to try something new. Kind of like the anti-Alex." Her sister Elizabeth. Liz.

"I got that from her." He touched her arm. Firsts! Two overt gestures in as many minutes. She almost burst with excitement. "But you can be those things too, obviously, you can be anything." He hoped she read between his lines. He had a bit of hero worship going on with this tiny woman. He really believed she could do anything.

"I'm trying to break out a little." She was opening up a little to new things, taking more time with her appearance again, because she'd stopped there for a while - and she knew exactly why and when.

"I can see that."

"Can you?"

"Something is different about you. It - It's not just the hair." he teased referring to the new length and sweep of it. She'd recently had it cut into long layers and coloured it a shade lighter. Alex knew her body was changing too, with the new workout regime. She was ready for this, physically anyway, emotionally and intellectually, well that was another story. He actually reached out to toy with a lock where it fell against her arm. She stopped breathing.

"You think so?" she croaked a little, lack of oxygen.

"Uh huh, I do." Then, as if every touch until now were a stepping stone, he rested one of those large hands against her cheek and she leaned into it. And it was just the two of them, as it had always been, in a perfect quiet moment.

"Can I... Can we... " he wasn't having a successful time of it. He took a deep shaky breath. "Should we see if there's anything..."

"Can we make out?" she cut to the heart of it, again. _**Oh God.** _Of all the scenarios she had played out this had never been one of them. **_Or maybe it had. It had to have been. It must have been._** But reality was just so much more real.

"A kiss. Just one." He leaned in, that hand spanning the whole side of her face and down her neck now, urging her closer.

"Test the waters." she said softly.

"For compatibility." he murmured.

She pressed her mouth to his a bit askew. It was chaste. Two sealed pairs of lips pressing. Like the handshake of kisses. Warm and calm and friendly. Then everything changed because he slid a hand into her hair and really took her mouth with his. And it was rough. Too rough maybe because when he mashed her mouth the thin of her lip hit the hard of her teeth and she squeaked with pain.

"Sorry" he murmured against her mouth then lightly tongued her lip soothing the spot. It was so sweet. So Bobby.

She smiled against his mouth and said "Here let me just…" she tucked a booted foot under her bottom to get closer to his height.

"Better?"

"Mmm hmmm." he moaned his pleasure. She let her tongue play against the seam of his lips he opened without hesitation the first touch was electric, and right. So right. And to Alex his moan was sexy. So sexy. Their tongues played soft and tentatively around the edges. Then he got bolder tilting his head for full open contact pushing her lips apart, opening her mouth to fit his, coming back again and again, drinking from her. It was so good to feel him after years of dancing around it. Alex grabbed his shoulder to steady herself. Because she felt dizzy and euphoric. It felt like something had been unleashed - because something was - and it wasn't going to fit back into the bottle. They couldn't get enough, couldn't explore one another enough. She grasped his upper lip, sucking gently and tugging it into her mouth. He made a pleasure sound deep in his throat at that, so she did it again.

Bobby was so unprepared for the raw sensuality of kissing her that it scared him a little. This wasn't a test run, this was foreplay. His body was responding. His hands were trembling. He was a heartbeat away from grabbing her and losing control. He wrenched his mouth from hers, "Okay." he panted in surrender "We're compatible."

He was close enough that she could see his shock and desire, even in the dark. His lips were wet and swollen. Their breath came fast. Alex felt a weakness in her that she never had before. A craving. He wanted to stop, but she wanted something else entirely.

"Bobby." she said so needily that she didn't even recognize her own voice. She leaned toward him again.

"We're out of control here, Alex." he said but put his hands on her ribcage. One of her fine muscled arms moved around his neck and she sank into the softness of his mouth. She felt his hands slide down and around to the small of her back compelling her closer. His warm fingers encountering the thin band of skin where her shirt had lifted and they moved on her back and forth just under the cotton hem. She was so warm, so soft.

This time they had their rhythm down. This time it was more careful, slower, savouring. This time her toes curled, her heart raced and she clenched down there. He gently rhythmically pulled at her tongue over and over. They made out greedily. Until it just wasn't enough and she rose up to get closer. Up and over, awkwardly cantilevered over the centre console. She felt his hands grip her waist, gripping her bare skin tightly. For balance her hand went to his thigh. He was so warm and firm and real. And at that intimate touch he broke away. He used his body to push her back. "No."

"No." he said again more forcefully. Inside her the rejection stung.

It was so unreal to Alex, how many times had she considered that face, that mouth. Finally feeling his lips had been amazing. Then in the next breath she wasn't even sure it had happened really, or even why. She sank back farther into her seat. Her lips felt hot and bruised, she raised a hand to them, thinking. She wouldn't have stopped.

'You're right that was totally out of control." she said feeling chastised and a little embarrassed. This was wrong. This was Bobby. The repercussions of it unfurled in front of her seemingly without end. Secrecy, disciplinary action, the end of a partnership, the loss of her emotional and professional framework because Bobby was the heart of that. Her head was spinning, positively spinning. It was the butterfly effect, it started with a kiss ended with God only knew...

None of these thoughts were sexy. She looked at Bobby and her ardour cooled.

"Let's go." she said and twisted the key in the ignition. She could feel the heat of his gaze again. **_Don't use your psychic, profiler, genius, mojo on me_** she hissed inside her head. Then she thought, **_you kissed your partner._** And how she'd kissed. Tongue fucked him more like. She hadn't held an ounce back. She felt like she had put more out there then he had. Wanted him more. She felt mildly sick to her stomach at that thought.

"Eames." Because she was Eames again.

"No. This never happened." She snapped. For some reason she had to make it all or nothing. She really wished she could do nuance. Her mouth tight her eyes dead ahead. _**Stupid, stupid, stupid.**_

And they pulled back onto the road and left it like that. Their thoughts bigger then both of them.


	13. Chapter 12

The kiss - _**No kisses. Hot, intense, kisses**_ - had been like a dream. A sweet dream that she thought about often. But to be fair, a bit of a nightmare too because she couldn't look at him straight. She could talk the case, she could lay out her game plan for the day, she could share her findings, but her eyes were always looking just above his, panning his hairline to his sideburns and back.

She didn't know why she was acting this way. Or maybe she just didn't want to _admit_ why she was acting this way. It was a shame response. She'd showed her hand. She'd wanted him more and he had put on the brakes. Besides, they were back One Police Plaza, back to a room full of cops, and their captain's eagle eye. The other worldliness of their road trip out of state was gone. The lighting in this room was harsh and fluorescent, nothing like the soft glow of twilight through the windshield. She sized Bobby up. He was sitting across the desk from her (as always) frowning at his computer screen.

"So that number for John." he looked up at her his brow furrowed. He was still a million miles away. She clarified, "Jane's car. The phone number. John is John Taomasi. He's a hack, yellow cab. I'm going to see how he met the vic. I can go solo."

He still looked mildly perplexed. "Are you talking to me?" he pushed away from his desk leaned back in his chair.

"Who else would I be talking to?" she stood up and pulled on her jacket.

"I just thought maybe someone other then your partner, other then the person working this case with you."

"Very funny."

"Not much of that these days." he dug at her. "Jokes, humour, fun."

"I don't think this is really the place or the time." she muttered and walked away. He got up quickly grabbed his coat and followed. With that mood she would peel out and leave him in the parking lot.

He caught her at the elevator and his long legs kept stride easily all the way to the SUV. He waited until they were driving out of the parking structure before speaking.

"I've been thinking."

"That's nice."

"Ouch." he said mildly and continued, "I've been thinking about kissing you."

She closed her eyes for a moment. They were going there.

"I'd really like to do it again." The words set her on fire. She masked it well.

"I'm sure you would." she smirked.

"Feeling confident?" he asked.

She looked at him with annoyance, "I was there remember? I know..." _**It was like we unleashed some wild animal.**_

"I thought you might deny it."

"I though you would." she shot back sharply.

"I- I wa- wasn't prepared for…" the stutter was in full effect. She put him out of his misery.

"Yeah. I know. But we did agree that it never happened." she sighed pinching the bridge of her nose.

"You did. I.. I can't." He was examining her. Hard. "It was really…" Amazing? Awesome? Hot? Sexy? No word seemed right and yet they all did. "Great." he settled on a weak descriptive.

"Okay so what? You want to be reassigned? You want to take a leave and get over it."

"Eames." he said loud, short and sharp making her jump, and then turn to him. "That hard ass stuff isn't going to work with me. I know you have a soft centre. Neither of us are going anywhere."

"Okay." She said because he had her number. She could as soon leave Robert Goren as cut off a limb. "Can we stick to the case then?" For her sanity she just wanted to go back to their set point, their ideal spot where temperatures didn't run too high or low.

"Can we make eye contact? Can we be normal?" **_Can we make out again?_** He wanted to beg, but left that part out.

"Can we get there without another word?" she shot back because she felt a little mean today.

"You accept my conditions, I'll accept yours."

"Deal."

And the moment she got what she wanted she felt a hollowness that she hadn't in years. She felt older, she felt tired, she didn't feel resilient anymore. She felt bruised. Like she had finally been a hair away from getting what - who - she wanted and needed and now they were back to this and it was painful. Almost immobilizing. Almost like she could resign or transfer or disappear and not tell him, just to avoid this dance, this dance of indifference, when she was so _so_ deeply invested.

What did it mean when you stopped coping and became sharply aware of your loneliness?

At a red light she wanted to turn and reach out and touch his cheek, feel the warmth of his face. She didn't of course. She didn't do any of it because there were rules. The ones she'd just laid out for him. The ones in the code of conduct for the NYPD and the ones that she rigidly held herself to, just because.

She could finish his thoughts. She trusted him more than she did her own family. And now it wasn't enough. It just wasn't enough anymore. It hadn't been for a while. But now after tasting him it really wasn't. She was a bit stung that even with all her bluster and demands he could so easily go back to his papers and portfolio. She was coming apart and he was reading some book. Reading. Reading! She was so torn up she was about to run the car off the road. She'd like to reach over and hit him. Make him ache even if it was just his shoulder, not his heart.

She took a deep steadying yogic breath. In through the nose, hold in the diaphragm, out through the mouth.

Could she blame him for defaulting to their comfortable place? The job. It was intrinsic to who they were. It set the boundaries of their relationship. Being partners had taught them to relate to each other. **_Cops first. Cops only. For all these years._** Not only that, they also had roles. She was tough and sardonic and he was insightful and sensitive. He probed and she got their backs up. One, two punch. How in the hell were they going to suddenly become relationship material? She almost laughed out loud at how absurd it seemed. She'd cultivated this masculine image of herself for years and used him to do it. Now an about face? Now what? Now to win him she needed to be what? Soft and touchable and feminine? Good Luck.

She slammed her foot down on the accelerator and tossed them both back. Then realizing she was short on space for such a maneuver hit the brake. Tossing them forward. His book slid to the floor between his feet.

"Eames!"

"Sorry."

She watched out of the corner of her eye as he picked it up. In 12 years she'd watched him. At his very best working a case, using his encyclopedic knowledge, turning the toughest suspects and finessing confessions. And at his absolute worse, being insubordinate and aggressive, filled with anger - yelling, raging, flinging everything off his desk, leaving her alone and impotent to face the fallout. She had seen him young and lithe, then heavy, bloated and overflowing with self loathing. And she had seen him countless times as he was right now, eyes straight ahead looking at the road like he was looking into the future. She had loved him through every second of it. She really had.

But Alex now also knew that she was in a tug of war, between what she had and what she wanted, who she was and who she could be, between her profession and her sexuality. _**You are a woman**_ that voice raged, **_a woman with needs_**. And, she thought, a woman unfulfilled. A wife with no husband. A mother with no baby. In her youth she might have thought that this was feminism at it's best. She was doing it, thriving all on her own - but with age came reflection.

She had been cleaning her home two evenings ago. Dressed in Joe's boxers and an oversized NYPD t-shirt. She had stopped mid dust and looked down. Then looked around. This wasn't her marital home, far from it. She had moved twice since then, once in the aftermath of tragedy two years after Joe's passing. And again after another Jo, this one sadistic. And this condo, this condo, with no relationship to those lives and to that Alex, looked very familiar. Maybe a little too familiar. A 1990's time capsule. In her living room was that huge floral print, a reproduction that she and Joe had bought on their honeymoon - if you could call it that, two days on City Island - she'd told most people they never had one. "We're married to the job too" she'd laughed just to avoid the looks of sympathy.

And there was the couch they had bought on layaway not long after. In the bedroom the dressing table was cluttered with a still life, full-colour shrine to a marriage cut short. Her and Joe toasting, her and Joe celebrating a family Christmas, and she'd since added another, courtesy of Theresa Quinn, her and Joe celebrating St. Patty's day. **_Imagine adding to the memories of a life 14 years dead_**. Almost like she was done with living.

She'd fingered the quilt on her bed. It'd been a gift from her Aunt Irene they'd received it the week before the wedding. Hand stitched, her aunt had called it a fertility quilt. She and Joe had laughed so hard at that, holding it with salad tongs in an effort not to get all… fertile. No worries in that department though, she'd never even had a scare. Then in her bathroom the soap dishes they'd chosen together on a lazy Saturday afternoon at a flea market - one of the few times they had managed to sync up their schedules. Even her outfit, the one hanging limply off her tiny frame was pulled out of a drawer that had a small section of his clothing she hadn't let go.

She'd sighed because she was locked in this extinct life. She was in denial of her present self. She went out on dates to pass the time, because it was the thing for a single woman of her age to do. Because sometimes she got unbearably lonely. And because honestly (and this was the sort of honesty stirred up by a bottle of wine or a sleepless night) she was waiting for something. Someone. Someone that would never be hers. Then after being kissed by another unremarkable man, after an unremarkable dinner, she came home to the comfort of the past.

Bobby pulled her out of her own head.

"You missed the turn off."

"Huh?"

"The turn off you just missed it."

"Oh. Uh sorry." She'd have to go a few miles out of the way now to get back.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, yeah. Fine." **_Just peachy. _**He was watching her again. But she a Major Case detective not some newbie flatfoot, her face was a locked vault.

She spiraled back into her mind, back to her obsession. She didn't have many friends left but there were a few she kept up with. Moira was one of the only people she knew now that wasn't a cop or a lawyer. They had grown up together on the playground of P.S 121 in good old Inwood. They probably saw each other all of 3 times a year now, blame kids and careers, but they had held on to that. Moira was brutally honest. And pretty objective since they lived worlds apart. She said that Alex was vying for two titles: The World's most Committed Widow and The World's most Devoted Partner. And Alex had tried to defend herself. But even to her own ears those defences sounded so weak. She remembered meeting with her friend last spring.

**_"Still with the fabulous detective Goren?" Moira asked._**

**_Alex laughed "Yep." It was one of those rare serendipitous days. A cloudless Wednesday afternoon. Alex was between cases and her freelance writer friend had just submitted an article, sent her 10 year old on an overnight school retreat and taken her husband to the airport for a 3 day business trip. Now they were sitting inside Cup a Joes with steaming mugs and buttery flakey croissants._**

_**"How's he doing?"**_

_**"Good. Better." Alex was aware her answers were reserved, but she'd had this particular conversation with Moira before.**_

_**"Is he still hot?"**_

_**Alex rolled her eyes. "I've been seeing someone," she shut it down. "His name is Aaron."**_

_**"Really you've never mentioned him."**_

_**"Didn't I?"**_

_**"No."**_

_**"It's only been..."**_

_**"Listen" Moira cut her short "You're a cop."**_

_**"So" Alex had shrugged not seeing the point.**_

_**"So you don't need a lesson on intent" she'd given Alex that duh look she had honed so well over the years.**_

_**"Intent." Alex rolled the word around on her tongue.**_

_**"Date all you like. But what is your intention? Commitment? Home? Family? I don't think so. Honey you're in love, and if you keep denying it you're just killing time until you die… alone."**_

Blunt but effective.

Moira urged her to put away Joe and pursue Bobby. At the time Alex had felt like her friend was asking her to stop a meteor or reverse global warming. It was all impossible. She couldn't see a way for her and Bobby. Not after all the these years. How could she change everything. Upset everything they were together. Risk something strong and enduring for something new and shaky. And now, even though they'd kissed, even though there was obvious passion she was still afraid. Wasn't this _really_ all they had? Just this: a SUV (city issue), cups of stale coffee, his binder, her hands on the wheel, their desks, badges, guns and moments of professional (but not personal) synchronicity.

She vowed she'd keep on sitting beside this man. She couldn't have him personally but she could keep him close professionally. And she vowed to ignore the horrible ache in her chest.

She looked at Bobby again. He looked at her in exactly the same moment. He saw straight into her.

"You seem... sad." He made a fist to stop from touching her.

"The traffic in this city is enough to make anyone cry." she joked, pulling off the freeway.


	14. Chapter 13

The cars buzzed by them a little too close for comfort. Goren and Eames stood at a busy taxi stand. A vibrant yellow line of cars snaked down the grey city street waiting to swallow tourists and businessmen.

"She was a nice lady. Real nice." Taomasi told them leaning against his cab. "I only drove her once. But I remember her because she told me she was a Kindergarten teacher. I got a boy in Kindergarten." He paused put his cigarette out under his heel. "I'm quittin'," he said self consciously looking down at the dirty nub of filter on the ground. "She gave me a trick she uses to help her kids learn to read. She actually had a folded up page in her pocket, just phonics, sounds - devices they were called - she gave it to me."

"That was kind of her."

"I thought so." he paused "I get all kinds in this cab. Most people are on their cell phones or you know just busy, preoccupied. She was nice. I told her about my favourite coffee place."

"Oh yeah? What's that?" Eames asked.

"Java Hut on West 83rd."

"Where did you take her?"

"That is where I took her. She just wanted a good cuppa joe. I waited and brought her back to Soho."

"That's some adventure for a cup of coffee." Bobby let it hang skeptically to see what shook loose.

"She wanted to see the city."

And your number?" Goren asked "She had it in her personal effects."

"The number thing, I do that for the fares I like. They can call me directly if they need a lift."

"Did she call?"

"I don't think so." he said distracted by a group of potential fares.

"Is there anything else you remember about her. Her state of mind, was she with someone,"

"No." he smiled blandly, "I'm surprised I remembered that much."

"Thanks for your time." they turned and made their way back up the clogged street to where they had illegally parked. They heard a commotion and turned back to see the cabby flagging them.

"Hey officers! Officers! I remembered something not sure if it matters." They looked expectantly.

"Like I said she wanted to see the city and she was going to walk. I told her that they were rolling out this new bike program. Ya know, pay your money get a bike, then give back the bike. I think she might have tried it out." He looked affected when he jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and said again, "She was a really nice woman."

"Thanks. Thanks for your help Mr. Taomasi."

When he was out of range they looked at each other and sighed in unison. Eames managed to crack a smile at that and said "You owe me a beer."

"Anytime." he said it in such a way that she tingled, actually tingled, in a very feminine location. She wanted to scream at her body to stop it.

"What do you think?"

"Not much. Well the bike tip wasn't bad. Maybe that's how she found trouble."

"Yeah she had to be mildly crazy to hop on a bike in lower Manhattan."

"But she was fit, and we can extrapolate - from her choices - environmentally sensitive, so it might have been an option that appealed to her."

"We should subpoena info from the Department of Transportation about this bike share program" she said.

He nodded. "Build a timeline."


	15. Chapter 14

Hannah stood behind Eames and peered over her shoulder. "You have the results of that subpoena. Tell me Mrs. Walston rode a bike around the city."

"She did." Goren piped up looking between Hannah and Eames his eyes narrowing slightly.

"She checked out a bike at the terminal on Canal St. in Soho at 5pm on October 20th and returned it to the same terminal at 5:25pm. She repeated that at 5pm on October 21st this time using inter-terminal return. Meaning she returned it to a location other then the one she got it from. She used her credit card for the transaction. There are GPS units on each bike. The company Alma Bike Share is in partnership with the Department of Transportation. They own a subsidiary that runs the program. Their line is that the GPS isn't for tracking they activate only for theft prevention, but when pressed they were able to tell us the exact route Jane Walston took that evening." Eames stated.

"We can always count on big brother." Hannah boomed.

As Alex stood Hannah pulled out her chair reflexively. Goren frowned at the chivalry and briefly wondered about the man's intentions. He gave his head a slight shake. His married captain?

_**Oh for Christ's sake.**_

He was having all kinds of visceral reactions he couldn't control these days. All of them revolving around Eames. Just yesterday Jeffries had asked her if she wanted to grab lunch. Something their fellow detective did occasionally. Bobby had never cared for the little invitations, but Jeffries had a girlfriend so it'd always been acceptable. Well Jeffries _still_ had a girlfriend but suddenly it all felt very unacceptable. Bobby'd literally had to bite his tongue to stop from making a very possessive, very angry retort on Eames behalf.

He laughed silently, she'd have cut off his balls if he'd done that. But that didn't stop his feelings. His reactions were getting irrational he knew it and yet he couldn't stop them. He clenched and unclenched his hands and followed them into the AV Room.

"She took a pretty impressive path around lower Manhattan." Alex looked into a 25 inch flatscreen monitor "The website here outlines an ETA for riders who are curious about how long any given trip might take by bike." She pointed to the concentric circles covering a map on the screen. "Jane rode to Pullman street, should have taken about 20 minutes. It took 40."

Goren came in smoothly pulling up a street view of the building. "The GPS told us she stopped here for 10 minutes, a bodega, seems innocent enough. Then she goes here for another 10 minutes, a flower shop. Then she inexplicably checks the bike here at the kiosk on Albany Street. Doesn't g - get another."

"Financial district." the captain looked pensively at the screen. "It tells a tale, and yet it reveals nothing. The woman was a rolling wildcard. Go. Canvass. Call me if we have anything."


	16. Chapter 15

**A/N: I don't like to interrupt the flow of a story but I wanted to say thanks for all of the positive reviews. They've become quite a driving force. I hope to post 1 to 3 chapters a day (depending on length) until I complete the story. I also hope everyone is enjoying 'my' Goren and Eames. Every fic I read approaches them in a different way, and you never quite know if you're doing them justice. My objective with this story is to stay as true to personality, canon and the formula of the show as possible so that my own little details, and the romance will be as authentic as possible. I hope that I'm achieving that goal. **

* * *

They had a crime scene. An almost sterile one, but clearly something had gone on in the penthouse apartment above Petra's Flower Shop, Jane Walston's second stop on her bicycle sightseeing tour. Petra, the owner, remembered selling Jane a bouquet of hydrangeas and the timing fit. She had also remembered Jane talking to a man outside the shop.

"He was tall, well dressed." The small older woman told them in broken english with a thick Greek accent. "I've seen him walking past window for 2 maybe 3 days. He comes from condo upstairs." On one of her weekly scheduled floral deliveries Petra also remembered seeing the same man getting onto the elevator designated exclusively for the Penthouse residents.

The recollections of the small business owner had sent them to the head offices of Trios Property Management. And shortly thereafter they'd been given access to the large, vacant, beautifully appointed penthouse apartment. According to the landlord the apartment was fully furnished luxury housing contracted by companies for their transient high level executives. And it was something to behold from the inlayed marble in the foyer, to the sweeping automated down lighting, to the warm Macassar Ebony panelled walls, to the floor to ceiling sheets of glass offering unobstructed panoramic views of the Hudson.

Eames looked around. "Screw Park Avenue." she said with awe and irreverence.

"You just want to be rich." he said poking around inside the drawer of a console table.

"Who doesn't." she ran a finger over the arm of a buttery soft leather club chair.

"When I win the lottery I'll take you away from all this." he joked. Even his jokes were spiking her heart rate.

"Got something there?" she responded to an immediate change in his energy. He hadn't said a word, he'd just paused, standing stock still, his brow creased.

"Le- let's call CSU." he waved a certain index finger.

She didn't know where his inspiration came from but he'd said these walls held secrets. Secrets beyond the ordinary financial district kink. They'd crossed paths with some real sociopaths on Wall Street over the years.

Goren's hunch paid off. It was their crime scene.

At times like this neither Goren nor Eames were certain there would ever be closure for the Walston's. Finding the crime scene was paramount, but like fruit it had a very tight window of freshness. And this one was pushing at the outer edges of that window 4 days on. Adding to the obstacles, the place was professionally cleaned on an alternating day schedule. Which meant their evidence had been removed by a maid twice already. Forensics managed to get some DNA from the knife set in the kitchen and again when they scoped the drains, but the latter was going to be a mess of contributors. They had a list of residents from over the last 2 months, a group to compare their samples against.

"So all the action took place in here." Goren said.

Eames nodded tight lipped realizing that detective work could only go so far, this was all going to be in the hands of the lab.

They watched the the ultraviolet light as it made a slow pass over the cast iron tub, drain and faucet. They could see the sweeping strokes of a hand. It looked sloppy and frantic like morbid modern art. The medium, they assumed, was Jane Walston's blood. But everything was degraded by a cleaning agent used by the maids. Eames had great faith in their people. If there was something to be found they would find it, but she wished they had come across this scene 4 days ago.

"The drains will give up a lot."said a man with a scope. "Your basic cleaners get some, but never all."

"Just what we like to hear." Eames said crossing her arms.

The bathroom was large and well appointed by most standards but Goren wasn't the size of most men. He soon realized that being tucked into a room with Eames and a team of 3 from forensics was causing some latent claustrophobia to rise to the surface. He had to get out. As he slipped behind her his hands went to her hips. It was no accident that he gripped her tightly for a moment pulling her in toward him as he passed. She felt his firm legs brushed against her bottom and the hard masculine push of him against her back. The electricity of the simple contact made her lips part and her breath come quick and shallow. She tried to force herself not to react but she had split second fantasy of his arms wrapped around her from behind. And of his lips sliding down her neck. And she couldn't help what coursed through her.

Arousal.

Morbid arousal. This was a crime scene after all.

But she supposed she had become desensitized to horror, and hypersensitized to_ every single thing_ Robert Goren did.

* * *

It was a full day of canvassing neighbours, questioning local businesses and speculating. A draining, unfulfilling, soul sucking day. That ended with more questions then answers. Oddly though, at times like these when the fatigue was deep in their bones and fuzzing up their thinking (when all you would assume all they needed was sleep) the thought of going home to empty rooms was the most frightening prospect of all.

"Do you want to hit O'Malley's tonight?" he asked casually from his desk not meeting her eye. Waiting quietly to see if she would blow him off.

"Not really." she said. O'Malley's was a couple of blocks from 1PP and a cop bar. It had a predictable clientele. At least seventy percent were NYPD and another twenty five percent could best be called buffs or groupies, and the rest barflies. Whenever they went it became clear that Bobby had burned a few too many bridges for them to be anything more then nerds at the cool kids table. And Alex? Well she was legacy and Major Case so she _might_ have gotten admittance into the club. But if Bobby wasn't welcome, then she wasn't interested. She was with him no matter what. Besides she had no time for the buddy boy system. And tonight of all nights she did not want to be trapped in a room full of testosteroned up saviours of society.

"Somewhere else then?" he pushed. He wanted time with her, time off the clock. And when he thought of his apartment, dark, dated, a layer of dust over everything he cringed. Case dust he called it. A special kind of film that seemed to coat everything after his 12 - sometimes 14 - hour shifts. Last night he'd used an index finger to write his name in it (claiming it instead of cleaning it) and then fell into bed.

She seemed to consider that for a moment.

"Um, okay." hesitation, because she wasn't sure if she could trust herself around him in a casual setting. But she _desperately_ wanted to be with him in a casual setting.

"Well we could go to my local in Brooklyn."

"Or we could try an Italian place I heard about."

"Uh huh." the noise was drawn out and cautious as he tidied his desk top stacking papers and throwing pens and highlighters with a clink into his E=MC² novelty mug.

"You suck at change." She decreed tapping the restaurant name into a search engine. "Take a look it's called Paolo."

"Italian? Is this a date?" he grinned boyishly teasing her.

"No!" she exploded flushing slightly. "Maybe we should forget this."

He got up and came around. Planting his hands on the desk on either side of her. He leaned in to look at a map and it's inset picture of the building. His mouth hovered at her ear. Alex looked nervously around the room from her position beneath him. He was getting awfully close these days. He radiated heat and he dwarfed her. She guiltily loved every second of it.

"I want to go." His breath on her cheek. "You're right, I like my comforts, but this could be good."

She looked down at her 13 hour old clothes and twisted her face at the thought. "I smell like 1 PP." she moaned

"Actually," He took a deep breath of her, like he was trying to determine her vintage and said "more like Dior and carbon paper."

"Good nose."

"I love the smell of carbon paper." She wasn't sure what to make of that comment so she kept her mouth shut. It was always hard to tell with Bobby. Was he being weird? Or kind? It was a very fine line with him. And sometimes there was no line at all and he was just endearingly bizarre.

She pushed back against him to stand. She stretched back bowed in a very feline move. She missed the lustful way he tracked her. And the way he bit the inside of his lip trying not to lose focus. She grabbed her coat. "Are you ready or should we meet there?"

"Let's go separately." Hopped to in his energetic way and walked away. Then spun and came back. As if remembering that he'd forgotten to finish his thought. "Don't get too big a head start. Just give me 5 minutes." he held up 5 impossibly large fingers.

He came back from the locker room fresher with a different shirt under his dark chocolate blazer. She looked a little too long. He'd also shed his tie and her eye roamed over the bit of exposed flesh, the man was a natty dresser.

"Now who's going on a date." she observed, smoothly covering her reaction.

His smile was sweet, sheepish, cute.

It almost killed her.


	17. Chapter 16

Paolo was small and lively. The letters on the front of the building were in a stylized white font above an emerald green cloth awning. The front windows were large and revealed a boisterous crowd in low lighting and waiters all in white with small aprons over their pant fronts. There was no pretension here and they were totally in keeping with the clientele who mostly looked to be coming home from work. Alex smiled, this felt like a place to forget yourself. She didn't want to be a cop right now.

She suggested they sit in the bar to keep him in his comfort zone a little. So they perched on high stools and nibbled complimentary crunchy snacks in the dim light waiting for their drinks and apps to come. Sometimes they did this, starters in lieu of dinner because it was very shareable, affordable and modest - they could both happily get their fingers in it. It wasn't until now when it looked like they were steaming toward deepening their relationship that Alex took a step back and considered the intimacy of that little ritual. Getting their hands in each others food. Often fighting over the last 'this' or 'that'. Some things were starting to make sense. Clearly they'd managed to be satisfied with a platonic relationship because they acted like they were married.

The food was delicious. Bruschetta on hanks of crispy homemade loaf loaded with sweet baby tomatoes, avocado, fresh herbs, and olive oil. Steamed mussels in a white wine sauce, calamari in a spicy salsa full of peppers and olives, shrimp in a rich salty tapenade, and rolled beef carpaccio which Alex wrinkled her nose at but Bobby devoured with gusto. He loved his red meat. At last nothing was left standing save an edible garnish and they were both sated nursing a beer and wine respectively. He was giving her a funny look. She brought her napkin to her face dabbing self consciously. Then she realised he was making a meal _of her_. His eyes boring into her.

"Stop staring." she told him sharply.

"I like being with you like this." he said honestly.

"We do this all the time."

"I think this bumps it up a notch don't you."

"Well it's no O'Malley's."

"It's biggest selling point. I'm glad you suggested it."

She glanced around the room to escape this new earnest Bobby. What was that shrink doing to him? And, when had the patrons in this restaurant gone from day to night? From colleagues to lovers? The tables nearest them both had couples. Their heads were bent intimately all smiles and laughter. The cluster of tealights adorning each tabletop gave a flickering romantic glow to the room. Suddenly to Alex it felt like this was a galaxy away from their usual. Bobby had been right, she'd invited him on a date! And just as the thought occurred to her Bobby did something inexplicable, he moved slowly deliberately and took her hand gently in his own as if he might kiss it, but instead placed it atop his where it lay on the table. He uncurled each of her fingers allowing their skin to make full warm contact. He used a single digit to rub the pulse point at her wrist. Alex felt like closing her eyes at the pleasure of it.

"What are you doing?" she demanded softly but didn't pull away, _couldn't,_ like their hands were magnetized

"I don't know." he answered "It feels good."

_**Oh no he didn't**_ she thought and tried to get them back to platonic. "This case is in danger of stalling." she threw in out of nowhere like a hail mary.

"Well no smoking gun," he murmured "No confession yet, but give the DNA time."

"You know how anxious I get after the first 5 days,"

"Yeah," he kept up the caressing "But the bike was a sound lead, we have a primary scene. It'll come together. We're just waiting on our POI." Person of interest.

He talked her down often. Alex didn't consider herself an anxious person but during a case Bobby had a genius way of seeing the big picture. It wasn't just good for her irrational worries, it had practical applications too. She'd come to realize that to him their cases were a movie he was watching and he could hold all the evidence, characters and their intersections in one place in his mind. At first to Alex his predictive ability had felt psychic. But now she knew it was retention. And it bordered on savant.

"I just don't feel…" she continued to voice her uncertainty but he put an end to that by raising her hand to his lips.

"You pulled back before." she accused referring to their kiss. "You stopped us. And you were right to. I must have been high coming on to you that way."

He shook his head slowly. "I couldn't see it. This… It's not like a case."

"What are you talking about?"

"The clues, the evidence. I didn't follow the evidence." Now she felt like she did at least once a day, like she should leave him alone with his half formed musings because she had no idea where this was going. "And now I -I think, no I know, it -it's time."

"For what?" she sat straighter not sure of what she was hearing. His gaze was steady his words unambiguous.

"For us."

She started. Opening her mouth then closing it. Then opening it again. No sound came out. She didn't know what to say. Then she did. She cleared her throat and gave the company line. "There can't be an us."

"Ever?"

"We're partners."

"We're more."

What was he saying?! Her world was shifting on it's axis, her compass was pointing due west, everything was out of control. Okay, they had explored something recently. They'd sparked a bit. But to hear him say it. It was... It was... Who was this guy? This emotionally honest guy?

"We're more?" she repeated

"Eames this" he gestured between them with long fingers "is not standard police partnership behaviour."

"Well sure... Not this... This stroking..." she looked down at her hand nestled in his.

"Not what I mean." he said "Us. We are not standard."

"What are you saying?" she stared.

"We're more. We feel more, we've committed more, we share more. We're more."

"Like..." she still couldn't form words.

"Like more." he dialed up the intensity, pushing his fingers through hers. The friction and pressure of that move, the spreading of her fingers to accommodate his size, the heat of his hand, it was better then sex for her. **_Well maybe not better._**

Searching his mind for something quantifiable. he said "Like you quit your job for me, more. Like you gave up a golden promotion, more." he sat back a bit.

"Solidarity."

He rolled his eyes. "It doesn't pay the rent. I know what it took, what you sacrificed, for me."

"I did it for me too. I want you to be my part… My partner."

He nodded. "And I want you. Only you."

**_Oh. Oh God._**

"And when we were off for that year I think we spoke, what was it, 350 days out of the 365, no major case to bind us."

"We're friends." her voice was there, but not. "And it was 10 months"

"I know 10 months 14 days and 17 hours."

She had felt exactly the same way.

Bobby sat there across from her all beaded sweat and twisting insides. But something compelled him to keep going. Because he could see the outcome, he could _finally_ conceptualize them as more then cops. Thank you Paula Gyson. And this was the scene where he laid it all bare for everyone to see, the indisputable evidence coherent, chronological and conclusive. He pressed his palm against hers and flexed his fingers so she would feel his size and he would get her attention.

Eventually he took a deep breath and said "You know things about me."

"Yeah, I know everything." she said it like a true New Yorker that accented ring of irreverence.

"Not everything. Not yet." And she didn't imagine the innuendo.

"You've had too much to drink." she tugged her hand free.

"Two glasses of wine." his face screwed up at the absurdity. "I'm stone cold sober."

"Well it's one of those days then." And he knew what she meant. The emotional toll of cases could be a real mind fuck sometimes. When they pulled their heads up out of them the world was too bright and everything was to close to the surface.

He shook his head "This is different."

"Okay." She didn't want to diminish him just because she was uncomfortable. "Why?"

"Because I've been the problem."

"Well _finally_." She joked.

"I mean it." He tried to get her to put away quippy Eames.

"Sorry."

He waited a few moments then said. "You're still here."

"Where else would I be?" She asked confused.

"Maybe with not with an acquired taste." He gave a half smile to let her know it was okay.

"Bobby..." Guilt washed over her the way it always did with those trigger words.

"No." He interrupted "You've seen my DNA. You know what..." He had to stop himself from swearing or worse "the brutality that created me and it wasn't the last straw for you."

"I know you're a decent man. A moral, kind person. I don't know anything else." She gripped his hand painfully for emphasis. This she wasn't shy about. She said this every opportunity she got.

"I have let you down so many times..." he looked at their hands they were a metaphor, her holding on so tightly but not quite able to grip all of him.

"No." was all she could get out. "No." He had come through so many more times.

He looked at her and tilted his head "After Frank after my mom you cried with me."

"It was awful." she justified. "So much loss." her eyes shone just thinking about it.

"I know" he cleared his throat emotional himself. "but you were the only one."

"Our colleagues were there Bobby. Your friends were there."

"You stood beside me for 3 hours then drove me home and slept on my couch."

Her chest tightened and she was back there on that awful day remembering every second of that 3 hours. The smell of the grass and freshly turned earth, the light changing as the sun moved across the sky, the intermittent heaving of his shoulders, the attendees slowly dispersing until they were alone together sitting on the knoll overlooking the final resting place of Frances Goren. It felt like yesterday.

"You think that's unique." Seeing how extraordinary their ordinary relationship really was.

"It's extraordinary." he read her mind.

"Extraordinary." She repeated. She was aware she wasn't adding very much but her brain was a little busy trying to understand this shift. Trying to figure out what to do. Trying not to run around the table and throw herself into his lap. Frightened and exhilarated she pulled back now and plopped her beer down on the table sloshing a little over the side. She folded her arms.

"So extraordinary." he continued "And I'm starting to realize how... how blind I've been." He rushed out that last bit. He looked at her. His beautiful partner. So tense so unwilling to open to him. He saw shades of himself in that behaviour. He was starting to see how alike they were (or maybe had become).

"Do you..." he stalled. She thought he looked mildly terrified. At least terrified Bobby style, lots of hand flexing, thumb twisting, drink droplet chasing, glass pushing. In fact Alex was sure he was going to push the wine glass right over the edge in a moment.

"Careful." She said alarmed her eyes tracing its path to the brink.

"Do you want to do something about it?" he continued not looking at her now.

She knew what he meant. "We're partners." she said again.

"We're consenting adults."

She couldn't help but glance around the room guiltily. But this wasn't O'Malleys this was Paolo in Uptown and there wasn't anyone here that cared about a man and a woman having drinks. She couldn't see the relationship they might have. She only saw the way things ended. Disappointment, separation, death. She didn't know why she couldn't take the leap with him. She just couldn't. He saw it. Saw her shutting down. Not good. He stood abruptly and threw some money down on the table.

"Come on." He grabbed their coats and her purse.

She just looked up at him.

"I have a drink here." she tilted her half finished glass. "We should call it a night anyway." She tried to be dismissive but kind.

"I ... " he fumbled "I think..." he stopped grasping for words, then seemed to grow a few inches. He took the glass from her and put it on the table. "We need to leave." With determination he clasped her hand in his and gave her a tug. "Now." he said firmly.

She sputtered a bit "What are... Wh..." but his hand seared into hers like a hypnotic suggestion and she shut her mouth and stood. And she was behind him letting him lead her, weaving between tables, avoiding patrons. She watched his broad strong back feeling a little thrill and in that instant she knew that she would follow him anywhere.

The cool air stole her breath, and assaulted her skin through her thin cotton top. But he kept on pulling her right into the service alley beside the building. And before she could say a word his lips were on hers. She pulled them away her eyes wide. He whispered "It's just me." against her ear and remarkably the words calmed her. It was just Bobby. His smell so comforting. His body so warm. And there was no one in the world she knew better. When his lips came back again resistance was futile. She would have laughed at that thought, if kissing Bobby - really kissing him - all hot and clandestine like, in the cool night air, pressed against his body from head to toe, with a little alcohol on their breath wasn't everything she'd heard of but never felt, fireworks and starbursts and floodgates opening. It was hot, wet and so sensual.

He hunched and bent at the knee a little to grab more of her mouth and their lips had a natural fit. He threw their coats over the hydro metre beside them and really applied himself to the task of undoing her. His tongue against hers, tentative at first then stronger. His hands pulled her in tight and close. So tight and so close that her body was bowed and she had grip him so not to topple. Her hands on his strong biceps clenching the fabric with each kiss. She couldn't help the sounds she made of pure pleasure low and throaty. She shivered and pulled her mouth from his a wet smacking marked the severed suction.

"Cold?" he asked.

"Hot and cold." she muttered to herself pushing at his chest and slipping her arms into her coat. "And confused" She added still in a passionate daze. "I'm going home now. So should you." She said her voice barely a whisper but still authoritative, she was the senior partner after all.

"We're not finished yet." he said with quiet strength.

"Bobby. No." and she was shocked at her tone. She'd meant to warn him away. Instead she sounded like an orphan weak and hungry.

His hand grasped hers. She resisted.

"No." she said again.

"Yes. Come here." He thought 'just kissed' Eames was a beautiful sight.

She didn't answer, but he instinctively knew the moment she surrendered. She let him draw her close.

She moulded herself to him, her peaks in his valleys, her soft cupping his hard. She raised her face and they stared at each other. And it was almost as hot as making out, acknowledging that they needed to kiss. Their mouths met again. And dammit she didn't care about anything but him. He was the most important thing in the world right now. She moved her hands to his face holding, channeling. She felt that hard sign against her stomach that he wanted her as much as a man could want a woman. His hands moved to her waist then lower caressing her bottom. Then suddenly on a groan he gripped and hoisted her by the ass. Two meaty handfuls. As if she weighed nothing at all. She had never felt so possessed by a man, _ever,_ especially with all of her clothes on.

"You've got a great ass." he murmured and she smiled against his lips. So that was his thing. His fetish. It felt good to know and to give him what he wanted. She clung, arms round his neck like a limpet.

There was a humanity - a gritty, dirty, need - in this pressing and groping in a dark damp alleyway which smelled like kitchen fumes and car exhaust. His hand slid lower the tips of his fingers slipping between her thighs just a little. And she arched into him, naughtily reaching between their bodies running her palm in a smooth even motion over the bulge in his trousers. He made a low noise and she knew that if they didn't stop soon they were going to have sex in this alleyway. But still she kept her hand there on his erection.

"Press harder." he urged a desperate quality in voice. She did with her hand and her pelvis feeling the hard length of him beneath the fabric. She invited in all of the forbidden thoughts she'd (mostly) held at bay. About how he would look naked, about how they might fit together. As she stroked and he gripped they continued to kiss like the world was ending.

"I want you." He murmured lowering her. "Do you want me?"

"Yes." It was a small breathy admission.

"Good" he said breaking the spell sounding mildly triumphant, setting her down, taking a step back. He was looking at her expectantly. It took a few moments to clear the sexual haze and focus.

Good?

_**Wait. Good? Had he said good?**_

"What do you mean?" she asked her voice atremble.

"You want me."

She felt a blush rise in her cheeks because he sounded so normal. _So unaffected._ She took a step back.

"We… um… had a moment." she said not sure what his point was.

"You're fighting it. But you want me."

What the hell. He was like a robot, like a self-satisfied robot. She scanned his face looking for the warmth she'd felt just minutes before.

"You wouldn't give us a chance. You were so shut down. You needed to see."

She swallowed hard.

She'd been Goren-ed.

Maybe it was the long day, or the passion of the moment, or the emotion of this case, or even a hint of rain in the air playing on her joints and her brain. But it _hurt_. Hurt, like rush of tears hurt.

"I am not a case." She blinked quickly. She had been completely lost in the moment. She had touched him in a way she'd longed to but repressed for years. _Years_. She would have given him anything he wanted.

"Eames." he looked a little bewildered and like he wanted to reach for her again.

"Um." she said trying to form words. "Um." she said again hearing her voice crack.

**_This bitch can gloat but I've seen her broken. _**The humiliating end to someone she'd taken into her confidence. One of the many moments that shaped the woman standing in this alley. One of the scars that rested on scars, that rested on scars, in her soul. Bobby couldn't see it but they guided her. They guided her desire to never be weak._** Fucking tears.**_ She cursed in her head because they made her really angry, they always did these days. She summoned up her inner warrior and since it was a night of firsts, and since tonight she wasn't Alex Eames just some crazy besotted bimbo, and since twice was two times too many times to be rejected but him. Her hand cracked across his cheek.

He took it stoically. But for Alex. It completely stole her fire. The remorse was immediate and as strong as her passion had been.

"Oh God Bobby, I am so sorry." she put a tentative hand on his arm she felt tears prick her eyes. _**Again with the God damn tears.**_ "I'm sorry." she said again. She had never hit anyone like that in her life. It was as if she were possessed. She didn't act like this. She knew herself, she was a calm, composed, rational person. This need for him was screwing her up. Her nasty, acerbic side wondered if this was what it like to be a woman. A victim of hormones and emotions.**_ It only took 45 years Alex but you're definitely a girl._**

"We should go." he said not betraying much, he turned to walk away.

She tried again terrified. She quickened to keep pace. "I'm sorry! You're making me act crazy." She tried to justify it. "Everything about this is crazy. You get that now right?" she moved in front of him holding up a hand blocking his path to the street.

"You hit me." he said and the statement was ambiguous.

"I'm sorry. I don't know why..."

"I think we do know." he stopped and stared her down.

"Know what?" she was almost afraid to ask.

"How passionate this makes you." his lips quirked. And suddenly it was clear. He had gotten exactly what he wanted. More even. He'd gotten her, wild, horny, anxious, erratic, violent. So out of body that she would question herself. That she would surrender.

Game, set, match.

Not for the first time her hand pressed to her own mouth swollen and well kissed. Son of a Bitch.

"I'll see you in the morning" she said shaking her head physically and emotionally exhausted and turned to walk off.

She felt him follow until she reached her car.


	18. Chapter 17

Relations were frosty.

He was silent.

She was silent.

She felt so guilty. Had she really hit her partner? In the face? She shook her head and sighed. Everyone could see her inner conflict, her muttering and sighing, her shaking her head at phantoms. But she didn't care. And even if she had she wouldn't have been able to stop herself. Some thoughts where just so disturbing they couldn't be kept in the brain, they had to spill out.

She just _couldn't believe she had done that_, especially now in the harsh light of day. This Alex, with her badge and gun looked disdainfully at that weak (tipsy, exhausted - because she wasn't above making excuses) alleyway Alex and her irrational fit of emotion. This Alex didn't want to share a body with that basketcase. She looked at his face and imagined she saw a hint of red there, but it was probably just the red haze of guilt over her eyes. She turned slightly away from the road to face him.

"I'm sorry Bobby." She'd been apologizing pretty much on the hour. The last thing she wanted was to revisit last night, but she had to tell him again in the light of day and she had to tell him often. What she had done was totally unacceptable. What he had done equally so, she thought, playing with her, but she doubted he got that. She doubted he saw anything wrong with his behaviour. He always worked a suspect that way. She blushed, not the cupping and kissing, the mind games. Mind games were his stock in trade. He'd been doing what Goren did best. Turning her inside out. Gaming her.

She wasn't naive enough to believe he'd been detached or working single-mindedly. He'd been aroused. He'd been having fun. She'd felt how much fun he'd been having. She'd caressed his hard throbbing party trick. She let her eyes flick guiltily to his lap, the mound at the apex of his thighs, just for a millisecond then away. Unfortunately he watched her do it and he shifted in his seat. Let another round of uncomfortable sexual overtones begin.

"It's fine." he said briefly.

"Is it?"

"Yes."

"Fine then." she heaved out and dropped it.

Her brow furrowed her lips pursed. Because he still seemed off.

And she was right. Bobby was wrecked, obsessed even. Getting her to reciprocate any kind of care or interest was all that mattered. She was his new disorder. His new fixation. He wasn't even thinking about the case anymore just:

_**Eames**_

_**Eames**_

_**Eames**_

It was like a pounding, consuming beat in his head. And his pants. And he felt compelled to do whatever it took. Compelled was a dangerous word for him because his needs were so unstable. He knew that about himself. He had no illusions. He went from great highs to great lows. When he wanted (needed) something he studied it objectively, then took unnecessary risks, then hatched wild plans. And when he suffered disappointments he got angry, mean, sometimes stupid drunk. At least he had in the old days, therapy was helping him curb his destructive tendencies, but he'd need a miracle to erase all of them.

"I feel... I think maybe we should split up." He said suddenly working another devious angle. Hating himself but then loving the hint of concern in her voice.

"For today?" she held her breath waiting for his answer. Everyone thought she would be the one to leave him_,_ that she would get tired of crazy Goren and up sticks. But she knew she needed him as much (or more) then he needed her. Imagine if he left. Imagine if he was the one who'd had enough.

"Of course." was his easy answer.

"Not forever." she repeated to be sure.

"Of course not." he had to reassure her, genuinely, she looked so worried "Just for today. I have an appointment - personal."

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah routine stuff, Hannah knows."

"Um okay."

* * *

The cold war day 2. Alex was NATO and Bobby was USSR. He had repeatedly told her everything between them was fine, but he was stockpiling his ideas like weapons. For the last two days they'd been working two separate cases, at least that's how it felt. She didn't know how to deal with this scenario. She'd never had a professional parting of the ways with him. Sure he'd done things she disagreed with, he'd made questionable choices but even when they were furious with each other the case still meant everything. The mission. It was always about the mission. It had made all the other petty squabbles invisible.

This was new territory. Things were changing. Bobby and Alex and their relationship politics were suddenly making the job insignificant. If she'd of been on the outside, if she'd had the benefit of perspective she might have jumped for joy. But she wasn't and she didn't. All she knew was that she was half of a defunct duo. All she felt was a deep longing for the connection that was lost. All she wished was that none of it had ever happened. How she craved normal again. But it didn't look like normal was anywhere in their future.

She glanced at her partner's empty seat, he was in the cafeteria, but for all their interaction he may as well have boarded a plane to the other side of the world. So she did the only thing she could, she put her head down and got to work. Petra Kostopoulos of Petra's Flower Shop had come in to assist with the composite sketch and Eames held the police artist's rendering in her hand. It was a likeness of the man who'd spoken to Jane Walston on the street outside the crime scene. He was attractive Alex thought. Close cropped hair style, narrow caucasian features, large almond shaped eyes and very symmetrical. Someone a woman wouldn't be threatened by, someone a woman might even find herself drawn to, especially before dusk in an affluent part of the city.

Alex was running with the sketch, she had faxed it to their liaison in the Haverford, Pennsylvania PD. They needed to know if the man was familiar to anyone in their victim's primary social circle. The prints still weren't back from the scene, she wished they'd hurry up because the whole thing might be moot if they got a hit. She'd also cross referenced the mystery man with their list of known residents, no match.

She stood and moved to Hannah's open door to offer the boss a briefing. It had to be done. Usually with Bobby, but since they hadn't broken this thing open yet she figured why not spare him this banal bit of bureaucracy. Tapping on the door she thought about how different each captain was, Jimmy had been their cool supportive dad, taking his 'kids' to after hours meetings in cigar bars and giving them all the leeway and positive reinforcement they could handle. Ross had been less confident, more self-deprecating, and, Alex always thought, conscious that he might get left behind. Obviously that was why he butt heads with Bobby (if anyone could leave you in their dust…) And certainly that was why he had died trying to be somebody, trying to mean something. This newest captain, Hannah, was structured, authoritarian and no nonsense which suited Alex just fine. At this point in her career she just wanted to get the job done.

"Where's Goren?" he boomed immediately.

She felt instantly defensive, even without cause. She'd been defending him for so long. "We haven't eaten since yesterday. He's downstairs. I just wanted to update if you have a minute." He nodded sharply and she came into the room. "This is our latest POI." She held up the drawing and he looked at her blankly. She blinked. He blinked.

"Sorry. Person of interest." **_Get your head on Alex_**. "We're waiting on prints. Just faxed the image to local PD. And running through residents. Also there's Stanley Tilton, he's the tenant who's stay at the penthouse most closely corresponds to the murder. He was registered to stay 5 days starting October 19th. He's been 'in meetings' all day." she rubbed her face she hated getting the runaround, but this job was mostly the runaround and paperwork.

"We also put a rush on the forensics and prints but they're stacked up."

"So you have nothing." he was blunt and intimidating.

"We've been working our asses off." She was just as blunt and frankly not in a mood to be dressed down. She knew, that _he knew,_ that they weren't coasting on this one. Joseph Hannah also knew a few other things. He knew he outranked her. And he knew that didn't owe her anything. But also knew that this might have been her office and her name on his mahogany desk. And he knew that she was his real predecessor. That knowledge always inspired a little deference in the presence of Alexandra Eames.

His voice seemed to soften. "Game plan, then?"

"Going to the offices of Laurentian Financial Services in New Haven to speak with Stanley Tilton."

Hannah nodded and waved both hands like a conductor and she was dismissed. The first thing she saw as she turned to leave was Bobby through the glass door, sitting there at his desk, pinning her with his gaze.

"What's up?" he raised his eyebrows.

"Routine." she sighed "An update."

"You didn't wait." he didn't accuse, and yet he accused.

"Our case is pretty thin, I thought I would spare you."

"In the future, don't." he said pointedly then looked down. She actually took a step back. It was like a body blow so hard and cold. She couldn't help the tears that rushed up or the heat in her face, but she'd learned long ago what to do with tears, how to take this unfortunate aspect of her femininity and use it to fuel her rage. Tears turned her into a strong, angry amazon. "Don't worry. I won't waste anymore energy being kind." She got her coat on. "I'm going to Connecticut. Stanley Tilton."

He stood and followed suit and in that moment it occurred to her (not for the first time) why partners should never ever _ever_ get involved. Inside she was a tornado of emotion and they were about to sit beside each other in a rolling black box for over an hour. Now they had to function seamlessly as a unit. If anyone else had spoken to her that way she'd have… She pounded a mental fist into a mental palm. She walked stiffly to the elevator.

Eighty interminable, awkward minutes later they were riding in another elevator, This one inside Laurentian Financial Services in New Haven Connecticut. Goren tapped his portfolio rhythmically against his thigh.

"Eames." He ventured, he was starting to rethink his strategy with her, he was ready to build a bridge.

"Don't. Let's just get this done." she jabbed at the illuminated 14 over and over, then raised her eyes and watched the count as the car rose to their destination. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest. Bobby watched her quite intently. She could be scary sometimes he thought looking at her small rigid form, wound so tight, so physically strong. Even though he treasured all of his fingers something still made him reach out and run one down the outside of her arm and over her elbow. She jumped back and gave him a look like nothing he'd seen, a blend of hostility, irritation and maybe even a touch of hatred. "I said don't! Bobby." And then the doors opened and they put their masks back in place.

Stanley Tilton was still in meetings, But their serious official presence in his waiting room was enough to compel him out. He was small in stature, with a deep receding hairline, and an expensive suit. Nothing like their sketch. They'd known to expect that, but Eames still had to brush off that first wave of disappointment. Imagine if he'd been the guy? The simplicity. They followed him into his corner office stating their business.

"What is it you do here?" Bobby asked amiably.

"Full service asset management." his answer was a bit clipped and he glanced at his large gold timepiece frequently.

"Oh, like my investment portfolio or maybe my retirement plan?" Bobby had neither of those. And fully expected to be screwed in a few years when he faced mandatory retirement from the NYPD.

"That falls under the personal wealth management umbrella, also we cater to small business, we offer commercial cash management, and we offer financial advice. What you'd expect from any banking institution without the day to day deposits and withdrawals."

Bobby took a slow, lumbering path to the large ergonomic leather chair behind Tilton's impressive glass and walnut desk. He sat down slamming every ounce of his 230lbs into the chair. Then he leaned back and sighed. "This is the life." he said letting his head loll against padded back. Stanley Tilton looked at Eames his lips tightly fused in a smile-grimace.

"I hope we aren't keeping you" Bobby added in that lazy way Eames loved. Telling Mr. Tilton without words that he didn't hope anything of the sort.

"I do have a meeting at 3:00." the man added a little nervously.

"Oh we'll make this quick." Eames said then picked up a crystal obelisk off of his bar cart holding it up and letting it catch the light. Without a plan they continued their 'all the time in the world' game. It was a time tested tactic.

The executive moved like a rat in a cage back and forth a little, then perched on the front of his desk looking longingly at his chair like a king without a kingdom. Craning his neck awkwardly looking from back to front, back to front, from one detective to the next.

"Our records tell us you stayed in at an apartment in Manhattan on 300 Albany Street during the week of October 16th." Eames started.

"My assistant did book 5 days but it was a flying visit." he ran a few fingers over his tie. "I ended up spending 2 nights Wednesday and Thursday evening. We finished our meetings sooner then expected."

"Anything notable about the visit? You've stayed there before haven't you?"

"Yes. I like the autonomy of a self-cater apartment for longer stays. I just didn't realize I would be leaving after 2 nights I could have easily booked at the Ritz or the Conrad."

"We'd like to show you some pictures if you have a moment." Alex continued glancing over at her partner. He was almost done playing. He used one leather clad foot and pushed off from the desk spinning crazily before planting his feet and standing.

Tilton watched in horror but swallowed hard and said "Okay."

"Don't mind my partner. He's just a big kid." Eames offered doing her best not to smirk. As Goren extracted the pictures. The first was a smiling lively Jane Walston.

"No. I don't know her." He leaned forward and raised a hand as if he might take it, then he let the hand drop.

Bobby immediately extracted the sketch from his portfolio and asked the million dollar question.

"Do you know this man?"

"N - No." he responded standing and looking down at his cluttered desktop.

"Maybe you should look again." Eames pushed and this time he gave the image a good long stare before shaking his head again.

"No." he looked again briefly and said. "Sorry, but I kept my head down and got my work done on that stay. I saw the inside of the apartment, then the inside of a hired car, then the inside of a boardroom, then the apartment again. I was only there 2 days." He looked up and smiled "And I was under strict orders by my wife to get home quickly we flew to the Bahamas the following day for a short break, it was October 21st a late afternoon flight."

Goren and Eames looked at each other. As alibis went, Tilton really couldn't have had a better one.

In the elevator again Eames said one word. "Liar."

Goren nodded "I can't remember, did he say he was only there 2 days." They shared a smile, the first in a long time. Then looked away from each other as if the softness weren't allowed. "Let's pay a visit to _Mrs_. Tilton before we head back." Bobby suggested.

"Just what I was thinking."


	19. Chapter 18

Connie Mayford-Tilton was leaving when they managed to box her in on the front steps of her Georgian home. After introductions, but before she knew what was happening, she had been politely ushered back up those steps and into her foyer.

"I really need to be going," she glanced over her shoulder as Bobby shut the front door.

"We'll just be a minute." Eames reassured her.

"We're investigating a murder that took place in Lower Manhattan. Your husband, and we're sure this is a coincidence, was the last resident in the apartment where the victim was murdered."

"Stanley could never..." she looked mortified but Bobby cut off the character reference that was just around the corner.

"Oh we're sure his alibi will check out. It seems airtight." he took a step into her "We need you to take a look at this man." he whipped out the sketch and held it in front of her a little aggressively. "Do you know him?"

"Oh... uhm..."

"if you lie you'll be obstructing a police investigation." Eames stepped into her from the other side.

"I don't..." she started her voice uncertain.

"Mrs. Tilton." Bobby's voice was equal parts censure and displeasure. The affluent housewife cracked like a dry branch.

"It's... it's my brother." her eyes welled with tears "But he wouldn't do a thing like that. He would never hurt someone." she was emphatic in her words but Bobby saw doubt creep in around the edges of her mouth and eyes.

"His name?" Bobby pushed not relenting even a little. And the woman was in no condition to resist, distraught as she was.

"Tyler. Tyler Mayford."

"Where is Tyler today?"

"He's a grown man he doesn't check in with his little sister."

"Mrs. Tilton," Bobby angled in again seemingly annoyed. But Eames let a placating hand hover in the air near his chest (as they'd agreed she would) and stepped between him and the woman.

"My partner didn't get enough sleep last night." She explained dismissively "Does your brother live locally?" She cast a sidelong glance Bobby he was already texting the name to the station.

"He doesn't. He lives in the city and he works for the city." Her hand flailed out looking for something solid and met with a wooden Windsor bench. She sank slowly on to the plaid cushion. Eames saw it. So did Bobby. Their eyes met over the woman's head. She had that look. One they'd seen before. For some reason it always seemed to crease the brow of a wife or a mother or a sister. The invested caregiver. It was worry, it was fear, it said 'he's finally gone and done it.' To seasoned detectives the look was plain as day.

"He's a civil servant?"Alex asked she couldn't hide her surprise, though she probably should have.

"He's a city lawyer." Connie Tilton made the distinction with a ring of rarefied sophistication, as though it were important that it be known that Mayford was a money name and Mayford's didn't serve just anyone in the public. She paused. "And he's a good man."

"Well we just need to talk to him," Eames smiled kindly trying to stave off the hysterical phone call that Connie Mayford Tilton was sure to make to her brother the second they were out the door. "He isn't a suspect, just a potential witness." And the woman gave up the information they wanted.

"Mrs. Tilton you have been extremely helpful." Bobby said tucking away the sketch. He had never meant a statement more.


	20. Chapter 19

Tyler Mayford.

An affluent, womanizing, bon vivant.

And their long awaited person of interest.

With this new development Bobby's head was back in the game. Alex had to admit she felt a little tossed aside. There was still strain between them but this was a very work intensive time. It was important that when they brought Mayford in they understood which buttons to push - which ones launched the nukes and which ones were just decoys, so to speak. One thing was nice, they were on the same page again professionally, snapping along to a good rhythm, now they could both taste victory. Make no mistake their job was about justice and truth and right, but it was also about charges and success and convictions. No they weren't political but they weren't blind either. They were in an elite class of detectives with all the expectations and trappings that accompanied that.

"Let's go in hard." Alex urged to resounding silence. They had been behind this guy, flailing in his wake for a week and part of her was annoyed. Part of her wanted to mess him up.

Bobby had just sat and looked at her, a cloud passing over his eyes. **_This again,_** Alex thought. Her partner was gun shy. And because of that this investigation was going to be a finesse job. By choice, not obligation. Bobby, was acutely aware of the repercussions of going in too hard. He still kept an article on Daniel Croydon neatly folded behind plastic in the back of his portfolio. She had seen it once and asked. Bobby had told her that he didn't want to forget. Alex had secretly thought a little forgetting was in order since the whole tragic fiasco had been orchestrated by Nicole Wallace. But she certainly understood his sensitivities.

In the absence of strong forensic evidence on the body and afraid this suspect might slip away the detectives did what good detectives do. They quietly probed. They pulled his sheet. A DUI and solicitation charge both expunged. Then they researched his work history and found he had recently been the lead attorney on a case for the department of transportation. A case he'd won for the city. Interestingly, coincidentally, it was a case regarding the placement of a new city-bike kiosk. The kiosks, like the one Jane Walston had gotten her bike from, were the newest corporate elephants on the streets of New York. Neighbourhood residents either loved or hated the rows and rows of heavy green bikes. The detectives speculated that Mayford's intimate knowledge of the program may have been enough to forge a connection with the fit, bike riding, murder victim.

Then they looked into the women. Mayford it turned out was a player. Goren and Eames had met some of his past affairs. A couple of those women had called him serial. Anything in a skirt. But that wasn't totally true, he had a type. Blonde, anglo with a peaches and cream complexion. Which was familiar. Very familiar. In conversation with the many _many_ girls he'd loved before they had found out from Evelyn (a waitress at Fury nightclub) that Tyler had a real thing for erotic asphyxiation. And they found out from Tina that he'd once held on a little too long and resulting in a reluctant trip to the hospital. And there were reports of more throat squeezing with Madison and Melanie. Which created a pattern not just a coincidence.

That in hand, they had executed a search warrant on his home, collected some clothing and looked for trophies. Mayford had a closet with 14 foot ceilings, Racks upon racks of perfectly pressed suits in a rainbow of neutrals. A Taj Mahal devoted to appearance. Bobby had immediately made the comparison to the renouned white marble mausoleum because of a white marble folding island that ran down the centre of the room, and because the closet _was_ a monument to true love. The kind between a man and his mirror. The scope of Mayford's _stuff_ was just off-putting. There would be no point (or legal precedent) in bringing in a department stores' worth of clothing to forensics. It was Alex's trained eye that alighted on 8 suits still in their dry cleaning bags whose tags corresponded closely to the murder date, and it was Bobby who took it a step further.

"Take all of these accessories." he instructed pointing to bowls of the tie clips, rings and cufflinks knowing that the devil was often in the detail.

Back at 1PP sequestered in a room alone with the door shut Bobby read the file they were compiling. On paper he felt a kinship with the Mayford. He didn't tell Eames. He was afraid to see the judgement in her eyes. Though a decade younger Mayford was about Bobby's height. He had dark hair and eyes. Mayford's father had died when he was young, so no strong male influence, another similarity. Bobby had had a father of course, he'd had 2 in fact, both of them stunningly pathetically useless. He preferred to think of himself as fatherless.

Tyler Mayford's mother had created a strong matriarchy and even with cancer seemed to have advocated for her son. Bobby had come from a matriarchy too but a reign of schizophrenic terror. Frances Goren had always said he could have been somebody, implication he was a nobody. But Bobby had often imagined his own strong self righteous mother as she might have been had she never spiralled into madness. Bobby imagined his mother as sharp and witty rather then delusional and scathing. On those rare lucid moments she had astounded him with her intelligence, perceptiveness and clarity. They'd discussed their mutual love of literature. Travelling together with fictional princes and paupers. He could imagine the influence she would have been had she encouraged rather then frightened him for so much of his life. He could have soared. Maybe he would have chosen the more cerebral path of the lawyer, rather then the emotional, physical, fraught path of a cop. Or maybe he would have been someone else all together.

Mayford had a fascination with the law over and above his career. Looking at his educational transcripts Bobby had been surprised to find Mayford had done the same package of extracurricular courses that he had: Theories of Criminology, Technology and the Law, and Behavioural Analysis and Theory.

Bobby had been a hedonistic train wreck in his 20's. He'd been untethered and living abroad. As a result he'd been with too many women, had liked the drink a little too much, and had explored some kinky lifestyles he really didn't want to relive. Tyler Mayford had also been in the service and walked the same rique path of women and fun. Secretly Bobby had always felt that the job had saved him. Declan had given him confidence and as professional promotions had come he'd gotten serious and started to reevaluate his course. And it was clear that Mayford had been saved by his career too. He was obviously a psychopath, but so were a percentage of the population at large and not all crossed the line from functioning to homicidal. Mayford had a prominent name, a sister who protected and coddled him, a professional reputation and 9 to 5 responsibilities that had kept him in check.

But here is where they diverged, Mayford's grandmother had been flush with cash, old family money, she had been an integral part of his life in his formative years. As a result Tyler Mayford had a great apartment, several real estate holdings both in and out of state, and he was an heir to a modest fortune. Bobby couldn't imagine himself with money. In that respect he had no comparable knowledge, so maybe they weren't similar afterall.

Goren and Eames knew that everything they'd amassed was enlightening but circumstantial. Circumstance was a boon in interrogation. And circumstance went farther with juries then judges but to charge him they needed more. What had put his life on a collision course with Jane's? What had compelled Jane to talk to him?

Because he was the guy.

Definitive evidence zero.

Intuition off the charts.

They both knew he was the guy.

And on a personal level all this work related consensus was nice, really nice Bobby thought. Because they didn't have anything soft or friendly between them at the moment. Alex gave him the stoniest looks. And sometimes he forgot his act and gave them back because she was being so… well… bitchy. He regretted thinking ill of her as soon as it occurred to him. Because Bobby knew he'd manipulated this rift with her, **_be careful what you ask for,_** because now it seemed as though she really did dislike him. He had taken to staring at Eames. Staring and staring and staring until she told him to stop, because her sixth sense was still in full effect.

And he wanted her.

But, he gave his head a shake, back to Tyler Mayford. They were just going to have to play him. Good old fashioned interrogation. It could work.

Possibly.

Maybe.


	21. Chapter 20

Goren, Eames and Hannah looked at their suspect through the one way glass of Observation Room 5. Mayford sat calmly in the Interrogation Room appraising his manicure and picking dirt from beneath a nail or two.

"You've got yourself a cool customer there." Hannah rumbled.

"That's either because he's a lawyer or a psychopath, or both. Can you have one without the other?" Eames cracked.

Hannah huffed out a laugh "That was tailor made." He looked at Eames with respect. Bobby's couldn't suppress an exasperated sigh. Hannah's 'respect' for Eames was a little thick wasn't it? In the back of his mind knew that the irrational jealousy was back. But he couldn't stop himself from facing his superior officer and giving him a slicing look. Gratefully, infuriatingly Hannah's gaze was still fixed on Eames.

Alex assessed Bobby. She took the sigh as annoyance and disdain. Even at the very worst of times she amused him. It seemed those days were over.

"I'll go in with him." she said trying to get into the right headspace again. Bobby wanted to grab her and say he would do it. But she was a better choice. Mayford might enjoy trying to manipulate her. After all her complexion was only about 2 shades off his type. And her blonde locks gleamed like a halo. Or, Bobby thought, maybe she was just perfect in his eyes.**_ I should tell her things like this._** But she was already gone.

"Detective Eames." Tyler Mayford stood with all the fine breeding of an heir, extending a hand.

Alex immediately felt violated. This wasn't a job interview and she wasn't a contestant on the Mayford show. She ignored him and sat. She straightened her sheaf of papers.

"Do you know why you're here Mr. Mayford?" She played it as straight as she could.

"I'm caught in a misunderstanding."

"No a murder." her voice was stone cold sober.

"Who did I murder?" his lips twitched.

"Jane Walston." Alex laid out images "A wife, a mother."

"How sad." The words left his lips but no accompanying emotion spread across his face.

"Yes very." _**You psycho.**_

"I'm the victim of unfortunate coincidence."he gestured to his core.

"Coincidence?"

"Meeting a lovely person then finding they've been killed. What else could it be?" He was all wrong. Alex knew from years of Bobby and his psychological probing that a misplaced smile or a ill-timed tear wasn't enough to seal guilt, but this guy was doing multiple things concurrently, smiling, flirting, opening his body wide.

"Murder." she repeated not giving even a little.

"I would never hurt a woman."

"Evelyn, Madison, Tina, Melanie." she ticked the woman off on the fingers of one hand. "All report being hurt by you. Strangled."

"Since they've been telling tales I'll assume they're still alive." He winked. "I'm flattered." He sounded so pleased that Alex sat back and blinked for a moment.

"Why?" she had to ask, she couldn't fathom.

"Me, the focus of all these resources. That they remembered me years later."

Alex restrained a laugh, a dark expulsion. "You don't seem worried."

"Innocent men rarely are."

"You're innocent?"

Now he did smile. "I'm not an angel. But I'm not a devil either."

"Yes or no."

"Yes. I am innocent. And you are beautiful." an inappropriate segue, Alex thought, shifting uncomfortably.

"So are you. But you know that don't you?" she returned.

He silently tsk tsked her flattery with a single waggling finger.

"Let's talk about your sexual proclivities then." She just needed to get Jane upstairs and into that apartment _with_ him, even if there was no confession.

"Yes let's talk about sex." he leaned in and the stark white of his teeth made her feel like a flank steak about to be devoured. This was a carnivore in a suit.

"You like to grip women's throats while you have sex."

"I like a lot of things. Consensual things." he reiterated.

"Do you engage in erotic asphyxiation or not?"

"From time to time. If my partner consents."

"You _only_ date blonde women."

He nodded "It's one of my quirks." he smiled slightly "What are your quirks Alexandra Eames?" And the hits kept on coming. Her full name felt like a body blow. In a moment he was going to slip her a piece of paper with her date of birth and social security number.

"How did you meet Jane?"

"The lady with the bike?" He downplayed. "She rolled over my foot, she was trying to steer a bike and hold a bouquet of flowers."

"Really?"

"Really. She was riding a city-bike."

"What did you talk about?"

"Oh, I forget." he seemed irritable for the first time, "Some inane small talk. I don't remember."

"Try."

He sighed and leaned in again. "I believe she apologized profusely then said 'please don't sue me'.

It had a ring of truth. Alex pushed "And?"

I told her that would be like suing myself."

Alex furrowed her brow.

"Well Alex," he spoke as though she were a child. "It didn't make complete linear sense. She was pretty. I was trying to slip in my profession."

"You mean that you work for the D.O.T." she baited him. It had gotten a rise out of his sister. "Is that how you made a connection with her? By showing her how common you are?"

Suddenly his eyes were dead, flat like a shark's. "I rescued the D.O.T with their bike program fiasco. I've saved the city millions." he said defensively "I'm a great lawyer. People want to be me." It felt like an audience with Gordon Gekko. She couldn't appeal to his morality but he was drowning in pride so Alex poked at it.

"All the lawyers I've known have either been pompous or incompetent. Did Jane roll her eyes at you? Is that what got you hot?"

He laughed so loud and long that she started to worry that she'd broken him. It took everything not cross her arms defensively over her chest.

"You aren't being very kind to me right now." he smiled "but I can overlook that."

On the other side of the glass Bobby hadn't moved, hadn't breathed, he had a finger pressed deep into bloodless lips. Hannah watched him rather then Eames. His body language. He looked worried.

"Go in with her." The captain spoke in a low tone.

"No no. I'll upset the flow. It's just he's… crazy… remorseless… fixated."

"We've see a lot of crazy in that room." Hannah added softly. "I'll take my crazy in a suit anyday."

Bobby wouldn't. He'd worked a lot of cases with crazy in a suit. Bobby preferred his lunatics dirty, ranting and raving, at least it was honest.

Goren shook his head watching through the glass as Mayford stood. Stood trying to subtly intimidate and dwarf his partner. He didn't like this at all.

"He's too close." Bobby murmured.

"Relax detective I think she has him on the ropes."

Bobby wondered for a moment if his personal feelings were skewing his view of the room. Why his signs were flashing _**danger! danger! danger!**_ and Hannah was unperturbed.

In an unorthodox move he watched Alex stand as well and say. "Either we both stand or we both sit Tyler."

Mayford immediately planted himself in her seat, even though she was right beside it. And said "Still warm. I really really like you Alex."

It felt like a death threat.

Eames moved slowly to the other side of the table. "About Jane."

"Yes Jane."

"Did you ask her upstairs to the apartment?"

"No."

"Are you sure? She was definitely in that Penthouse. We have forensic evidence." She stretched the truth. "Are you implicating your brother in law Stanley then?"

"Stanley was out of town with my sister. This is getting tedious Alex maybe the maid or the Property Manager or the Superintendent took her up? How about that for an alternate theory?"

They had copies from the key card reader. Staff key cards had one identifier, tenant cards another. There was no video footage. As a courtesy to the masters of the universe that paid them, there were no camera's in or around the Penthouse elevator. Plausible disability Alex thought. It wouldn't do to see a prominent figure and his horny prostitute on the way up to their sugar shack.

Alex sighed "Let's go over your schedule on those 2 days. October 21st and October 22nd."

"I'm here as a kindness. My civic duty" He looked at his watch. "But I have a meeting at 1pm."

Alex checked the clock 12:15 "It won't take long." She wondered if her hard exterior was putting him off. If she needed to compromise her values a little. She hoped there was a hint of flirtation in there somewhere.

He smiled "I do find it so hard to say no to a beautiful woman."

She smiled softly.

"I'd like to date you." he said it abruptly, without hint of a question.

"Would you?" she reeled a little. He was playing out this Don Juan persona but without humour or boundaries. She looked into his dark eyes searching for humanity beneath the slick layer of charm. But he honestly viewed himself as irresistible.

"Very much."

"Well this is a first for me, and for this room."

He grinned, those teeth, those eyes, the allure of the golden ratio. Alex had to admit she was affected even though she knew exactly what she was sitting in front of. On the street, in a bar, it would be like being hit over the head with a love stick. If you went for his type. The perfect type.

Alex shrugged "Maybe if you're helpful..." she left it open ended and the almost got wind burn at how quickly he launched into his calendar.

"I'll spare you the boring details of my work day but on the 21st I met with Stanley we had a noon hour drink at the Whistle and Hound pub. He suggested I take the penthouse for a few days. I didn't need it, strictly speaking, but a luxury mini vacation?" he shrugged "I went to the apartment. Everything was in order. I met your Jane Walston on my way to an early dinner, 6? Maybe 6:30? After our unfortunate collision we spoke, as I told you, I saw her wedding ring and didn't push it. I went to dinner.

"Alone?"

"Alone. Sushi, at the Dragon Roll. Check please."

"We will. And on Saturday the 22nd?"

"Slept in, went into the office at about 12pm for a few hours, had an appointment to have my car detailed which took over an hour." he smiled at the lift of her brows "A _standing_ appointment. Got groceries. Got back to the apartment that night around 7pm and ate in." He said it all like a script, no pauses.

She made copious notes at that point in personal shorthand. Even with the recordings nothing beat impressions formed in the moment.

He interrupted her scrawl. "You have my timeline, can I have your number?"

"Mr..."

"Tyler." he cut her off.

"Tyler. The card reader on the dedicated penthouse elevator records every time the key card is inserted. Two cards were issued to Stanley Tilton. The second card was used shortly after the first." She ruffled through her sheets finding the stats she sought "8:07pm October 21st. Who used the second card?"

"I…" he faltered and it was like music to her ears.

"Was it Jane?"

"No"

"Was it Jane?"

"Repeating it doesn't make it so."

She glared. "You're lying to me about Jane." she said standing as if his lie deal breaker, not the fact that he was a murderer.

"Okay sit." She fed his ego by obeying without comment, slowly lowering back into the chair. He extended his arms across the table and flexed his fingers. As if gesturing for her. She edged back. He moved forward pushing his hands even closer to her. And her insides bucked at her the prospect. Holding hands with a killer. Everything in her life up to this moment screamed w_alk away._ And yet she found herself clasping them letting his large pale palms envelope hers. A tremor went through her.

"It was just sex. She came up of her own will. She left unharmed."

"Jane?"

"Yes Jane."

Alex felt his admission of culpability was just a breath, a nudge, maybe a slimy caress away. She just wasn't sure what more she could do. There was civility in interrogation even though the subjects were suspected of heinous crimes still they were human. If the perp wanted a snack they got a snack. If they were thirsty they got a drink. Well all this particular deviant seemed to want was her and there weren't any other petite blonde officers on the 11th floor of 1 Police Plaza that she could feed to the beast.

"Did you put your hands around her throat?" she tilted her head back a little exposing her neck and herself to the worst kind of harm. He reached up tentatively to touch what she offered. But she stayed him. "Only if you tell me." she drew a firm line.

"She wanted it, she was about to climax she begged for me to squeeze."

"And you did?"

"Yes." he reached up for his prize but she was already stumbling back, knocking the chair over in her haste to be away from this maniac. Mirandizing someone had never felt so satisfying.

Outside the room Bobby was there pacing and rubbing his neck. When he saw her he turned away. And she knew instinctively that he was about to explode. Hannah was there too but by contrast his reaction was effusive.

"Great job detective. Now go loofah those hands." he smiled.

"Bobby I…" she said tentatively when it was just the two of them, needing his feedback maybe a warm glance or touch. Her hands were trembling. For years she'd watched him with perps in interrogation sitting beside them, get in their face, pulling them around the room, hugging them, dancing with them. But she never had. It had always turned her stomach a little his intimacy with evil. In contrast Alex was always herself in that room stand-offish, procedural. snarky. Today she'd been Bobby Goren and she felt drained, exhilarated, still mildly terrified.

She needed him. She needed him to bring her down. To help her find normal again.

"Bobby?"

His back. Broad and closed and blank. That was all he offered.

"Not now Eames."

But she couldn't stop herself she fired. "What is your problem? We got the guy."

"Not now." he annunciated detoxing from all he'd seen and felt.

She stared at his back for a moment. Then she left the room.


	22. Chapter 21

That night sitting on her couch wrapped in a beige wool throw she clasped her cell in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. She was teetering on the edge. She was about to drunk dial him. Drunk was a bit of an overstatement. She glanced over at the empty wine bottle on the coffee table and the sip left in her glass. It took more then 3/4 of a bottle to push her over the edge. But it had gotten to her. Today's events. She still had a knot in her stomach. Going up against criminals, pretending to be strong - no not strong, indestructible - never letting anyone in, it took a toll. There was no one to talk to. And her lips were starting to go numb from being held so tightly shut. Even the wine couldn't erase the dryness from words unspoken.

Loneliness.

No worse. Isolation.

No one could grasp what it meant to project strength even though fear was churning in your gut. To rub up against evil and then come home and cook dinner. So incongruous. This was why so many cops turned to vices. Vices kept them warm at night.

No one could understand.

Well, someone could understand, but that someone had turned his back on her.

Bobby was such an asshole. Ignoring her when her adrenaline was high and her hands were still shaking. Some friend. Some fucking partner.

She hit speed dial.

He answered on the 2nd ring. "Eames." No hello. All business.

"Goren." she shot back like an indictment.

One breath. Two.

"You are such an asshole." There. She'd said it. Filters off.

"I know."

That deflated her a bit. "Fight with me." she demanded

"You're a bitch." her eyes widened, she hadn't see that coming. She'd been gearing up for a classic Goren pity party.

"You're a bastard."

"You shut out all warmth. Like a bloody block of ice."

"You're a self-absorbed headcase." she countered.

"Do you even realize you're a woman? Only the touch of a murdering psychopath gets you going?"

"Jealous?" she laughed without humour. "Are you jealous, hypocrite? We both know that it's the crazy ones that give you wet dreams."

"At least I get aroused. And you're what? Still crying over Joe? 14 years later? 14 years without a man between your thighs."

"Does it hurt when you think of me with a man?" she taunted. "When you think of me as more then your little sidekick?" She said the last two words like a nasty teenager. "Do you want to be between my thighs?" her laugh sounded vile, all choked and angry, maybe she _was_ drunk.

"You wouldn't remember what to do." he mocked.

"Maybe I'm waiting for someone right now."

"Who Godot?" his laugh was toxic too. "Maybe Mayford?" Something was coming out here something he wanted to stop, but couldn't "Letting that piece of trash touch you. Making eyes at him. Anything to close the case? Is that the new motto?"

"I learned from the master. 'When did you realize your mommy wasn't like all the other mommies'" she mocked a soft British Australian hybrid.

Silence.

An odd click, clack, click.

Silence.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

Then the long droning buzz of dial tone.

* * *

The regret was becoming familiar to her. Another alcohol fueled bad decision. More tension. More denial.

_**Bobby, Bobby, Bobby. **_

She sat with him all day. Thought about him all evening. And had twisted pseudo-realistic dreams of him all night.

Everything was about him.

A beam of morning light shot right between them illuminating a spot on an open file folder. She looked across their desks and willed him to look back. He did briefly. She had always been able to call him without words. It was their thing, the non-verbal communication. She felt relieved that it wasn't broken. She gave him a soft look, a little sadness, a lot of regret. He considered her, like one might a specimen pinned to a board, and went back to his work.

They were doing paperwork. _**The piles of damn paper:**_ seizing Mayford's effects into evidence- that was a pile of forms, Seizing and towing his car - those were separate forms, the warrant for his arrest - those were forms, affidavits- more forms, information for the prosecutor - more forms. Activity logs, Interrogation transcripts, irrelevant memos and phonecalls, there were so many calls to be made. It was unending. So of course they didn't speak.

But Alex was distracted. And this endless distraction was so dangerous in her line of work. Not today of course (unless a sheet of 8 ½ by 11 jumped up and cut her) but in the field. Her judgement was impaired. It couldn't go on. She sat and pretended to type while listening to his phone conversations. He leaned back in the worn creaky swivel chair and rubbed a hand over his face. Then on another occasion he ran his knuckles back and forth exactly 6 times across his chin. Then later in the day she watched him ruffle his hair aggressively. And the ridiculous Bobby watching continued all morning. Alex was totally useless. A human sized paper weight.

After her 20th call, 15th form and 6th consecutive hour in a crappy old NYPD chair, her bum ached, her neck and shoulders burned from the downward tilt of her head. _**Damn case.**_ She looked up at the ceiling releasing her head slowly allowing it to rest it against one shoulder then the next. If she weren't in the squad room right now she'd be on the floor in fish pose.

She felt the prickle of her sixth sense. **_Oh, right, of course._** This was what it took to get him to _see_ her. An innocent stretch, perverted. Without faltering she watched him watch her. Invited it. Now arching in her seat. Now pushing peaked nipples in his direction. Now lifting each arm slowly above her head. Pulling her at her elbows, stretching her tricepts with a soft pleasurable moan. Lifting her hair off her nape. Tripping light fingers over her neck toward the deep V of her blouse. Biting her bottom lip in an approximation of sex appeal. Yeah, she had no idea how to do it anymore, be sexy, use her few attractions, but somehow she sensed none of that mattered with Bobby. They were both pretty far gone.

He watched.

He couldn't pull his eyes away.

She was teasing him. Right here in the bullpen. Teasing him, and any other man that cared to look.

His pants became uncomfortably tight.

Their eyes met in the hottest, angriest, most electrified glare they had ever shared. And in that moment it was so clear. Either they had to go for it or they had to cut each other loose.


	23. Chapter 23

They were back at the penthouse. The crime scene. It was still taped off, but it was going to be released today and Bobby felt another look was in order. But as Alex poked around the opulently furnished, professionally cleaned rooms she didn't know why. There was nothing here, deep oversized couches, the thick onyx slabbed coffee table, tasteful modern first edition artwork. A carpet with vacuum lines still clear between the footprints of CSU.

He slowly circled the room. "I don't know… it's.. something." he said haltingly. "Is something off for you?" He gestured at Eames with his leather portfolio. All broad shouldered and pensive in his black overcoat. Surveying the lemon fresh surfaces.

"Not really." _**Just between us.**_ The apartment was so bright and sunny and clean that it didn't even feel like someone had died violently here.

"I'm forgetting something important." he continued.

She circled the room going through the same desks they'd been through, the same closets while casting surreptitious glances his way. She knew she could do worse then to humour one of his hunches. His hunches closed cases.

"Eames."

"Yes." She said immediately. "Find something?"

"This isn't working."

"What?"

"Us."

Her stomach dropped.

"Well we had a good run." she joked even though she wanted to die.

"That's not even funny."

"Isn't that where this is headed?" she pinched the bridge of her nose she felt a headache coming on. Wondering when he'd serve her with the Dissolution of Partnership papers.

"It's headed somewhere." He said quietly to no one in particular.

"Ha." It was the angry laugh of dawning awareness. "You think we need to, what? Get it out of our systems?" He'd told her that a few years ago, on the phone so he didn't have to see her reaction. Frank was a pig.

She let her fingers play across the desktop tripping over the leather calendar, then across a silver embossed pen, then over to spin the globe.

"Yes."

"Yes?" She whipped her eyes and masses of hair toward him. "You think we should..."

"Yes."

"And you aren't worried about how it will change things?"

"Things are already different. We're angry, distracted, and…"

"And what?" She stopped breathing so she wouldn't miss a syllable.

"I want you." he said "And I can't do this job without you."

"You can't do it with me either." she muttered. "We've barely speak. You hate me." She could resist adding that juvenile final sentence.

"I don't hate you" The look he gave her was comically shocked. "Hate you?" he said under his breath it was baffling. "I don't hate you" he repeated "I'm not the one making nasty late night calls."

"I was hurting."

"I figured." he rubbed the back of his neck "You're really good at making me hurt too."

"Right back at ya."

They were silent for a good stretch. Moving around the room until he brought his fist down hard and loud on the kitchen table. And she jumped about a foot. "I can't do this." He said "I can't think." his voice was tortured.

"Okay, what do you want? You want to leave?"

He moved to the centre of the room. "Come here." he said. She swallowed hard. She knew where this was going, but she went anyway. She stood in front of him. He trailed two long fingers behind her ear and down her jaw using them to raise her chin. At last their eyes met. It was a long lingering gaze. "What are you thinking?"

She was thinking that she loved that he had begun touching her. It was who he was. Tactile. Having his hands explore her was the most natural thing she could imagine. Instead she said. "I think we're done here, this place is clean. Cleaner than clean." she looked down at her bleeping cell like it was the most important thing in the world. 1PP. "The forensics are back. Finally. And the prints. We've got some hits, on some non-residents." She felt like the coldest bitch ever, letting him down that way. Why couldn't she just soften, just a little?

His shoulders sagged just a fraction. "What are you thinking about us?" he said his voice tired "Bobby and Alex."

Her heart flipped then flopped. Like a real couple. Instead she quipped "Why do you get top billing?"

He gave a short sharp laugh "Don't deflect."

"Do I do that?"

"Eames." He was getting impatient now.

"I'm thinking that this is so wrong."

"Yeah, you're right." He seemed to shake off the connection."Let's just go."

She stayed him with a hand on his arm. And for the sake of honesty she risked something. She pressed her hand to his cheek. That same cheek she'd struck. He closed his eyes briefly as she did. "I'm sorry I hit you. I'm sorry for what I said on the phone. You're making me lose my mind."

He nodded "Why?" He wanted more. More honesty.

"Why?" She laughed nervously, then sighed, then scratched her hairline. "Why are you making me lose my mind? I don't know. Suddenly you're the most important thing in my little little world." She snorted a bit, because pathetic didn't begin to cover how she felt.

"And all the abuse?"

"Abuse!"

"You hit me, you call me to yell at me. That's pretty abusive."

"I'm not as subtle as you. Your abuse is on the soles of my feet." her analogy hit the mark.

"Don't say that."

"You shut me out. You deny me friendship."

"I'm sorry, I had my own stuff going on," he waved a hand. He didn't tell her what his stuff was. Like wanting to drag her out of that interrogation caveman style. That kind of _stuff_. Like wanting to hurl a chair through the one way glass as that degenerate touched her. That kind of _stuff_. "And we know what dealing my stuff does to me." They both couldn't help but smile because truer words had never been spoken. After a moment he said "I know what this is really all about."

"What?"

"Frustration."

"Sexual?" she crossed her arms suddenly feeling very exposed. "I can't believe we're talking about this, about doing it for mental health."

He got right up into her personal space. "And physical pleasure." He upped the ante. He grasped her hips firmly. "And intimacy." his voice just above a whisper.

"Bobby." she was being seduced. Her force field of anger sizzled, shorted then vanished. Whether by design or just by accident his portfolio slipped from beneath his arm and bounced twice awkwardly on it's side. The contents spilled out spreading around them, crime scene photos, notes, call lists, pens, paper clips, a box of tic tacs, it all went everywhere. And this was how he won, by letting her know that nothing else mattered. It was so arousing.

Bobby looked down on her. She stimulated him. His senses were on fire. Her hair had a faint sweet aroma, fruit? Her shirt smelled clean and fresh like it had been hung on the line. His eyes dropped down and fixed on her decolletage, then the pale length of her neck. He wondered her skin would smell like. Her natural aroma. He craved it actually. Without waiting another moment he buried his nose there in the crook of her neck. Her warmth smooshed to his nose and lips. She made a noise of surprise reflexively raising her fingers to the back of his head to keep him close.

"Amazing." the word was muffled. "Alex." he sighed and his voice coated her name and it poured all over her like honey.

Then he was walking forward using his hands and size advantage to move her until smack she hit the wall. She looked to her left, the gaping front door was right there. He saw her looking, and his hand shot out to slam it and twist the lock the action reverberated through the wall. Alex felt a surge of adrenaline like a perp, panic, lust, excitement in her veins. And she finally understood what it felt like to be on the receiving end of all of his unpredictable intensity.

"This is ina... inappropriate."

The words were right. No fraternizing between partners. But she rested her open hands on his chest and it was hard. Harder than the wall at her back. Secretly she was loving this display of masculinity. In the end it was so uncomplicated, he was the man and she was the woman, it felt wonderful to give in to those roles. He was looking at her now in way she had never seen, a way she could only describe as raw. Abruptly he swooped down, his face pressed to her hair breathing deeply like she was some corpse on some crime scene. Then again dipping toward her mouth then veering away before contact. Her lips followed him unconsciously yearning.

And then just like that he took a step back. The loss of warmth was palpable. Alex had to curl her fingers into her palms not to grab at him. And when she did she understood.

"You're playing with me." she said quietly. "Again." Bobby didn't want to be this person. To obsess. To harang her. To play games. To pursue and then strategically retreat, but he couldn't stop himself. His hands, his mind, his body, they just wanted what they wanted and this was the way to get it.

He stared.

She glared.

_**Fuck it.** _She grabbed his lapels pulling him back hard, the sweetest collision.

She thought, days later, that it would be fair to say she had attacked him with her mouth. They stood like that pushing and pulling desperately at each other. It wasn't shy. He stuck a big leg between hers spreading, like a pat down but left his thigh nestled there. She pressed forward and down on his leg. Biting his lip with the sensation. He held her there tightly, his hands on her ass moving her subtly against him.

Necking.

For what seemed like an eternity.

Just necking and pressing.

"Put your legs around me." he whispered a naughty suggestion in her ear, lifting her leg.

"Are you serious?" Only she could manage to sound breathy and edgy. That request was a logistical nightmare.

"I want to feel your legs around me." He nipped her creamy skin.

"Bobby." It was all so surreal. "I don't think..." But her body had other plans her hands raised to his shoulders fully prepared to scale him like a rock wall if that was what he wanted.

"Stop thinking." He barked letting his hands play over her everywhere roughly. Letting her know he could. He flicked open the top button of her blouse. Before she knew what happening he had peeled back the thin lacy layer of her bra and latched onto her nipple laving, tugging until she didn't even know what a thought was. She let out a rough cry while being sucked into the warm wet vortex of his mouth. His tongue drew a thin moist path up her breast over her chest, neck, and chin back into her mouth.

"Come on." he cajoled raising her leg again reminding her of what he wanted. He sounded like sex. The way a man sounds when he will do or say anything to have a woman.

"Okay, take off your gun." She panted between kisses, because it was there preventing her, literally, figuratively, always.

And the words were barely out when he'd torn it off and tossed it to the floor along with his badge and his sanity. He jammed two fingers deep inside her waistband because he could. He pulled her even closer and repeated the same with her tools of the trade, discarding them like garbage. Then impatiently lifted her against him, her toes left the ground.

"So this is what Raggedy Ann felt like." she snarked because she was overwhelmed by his strength and purpose. Alex moved her legs up under the great mass of his overcoat and suit jacket and he helped mould her tightly to his hips. And at last he pressed into her right there. Her head fell to the side and he latched on with a very masculine sound, a jungle cat rumble, a caged roar that she felt vibrate her skin. Alex felt an orgasm building from just this, the embodiment of so many fantasies.

**_Oh sweet Lord._** This was what she needed. She pulled at the tails of his dress shirt and undershirt from his pants slipping a hand up and under. Warm. He was so deliciously warm. Caressing his bare skin, and letting her hands run where they wanted was a dream fulfilled. And so pleasurable.

She moaned.

He moaned.

"...inside you..." he muttered, "...want you." It was so hot and honest because he ground into her as he said it. And she tightened on him, again and again and again because she _couldn't stay still_. There was madness in the movements. They were compelled then thwarted, compelled then thwarted by fabric. In the midst of it all, before it was too late, before she gave herself to him completely she needed to know. She pushed her fingers deep into his hair and pulled back, really pulled, to stop him, to get him to look at her.

"Eames! Ow." The discomfort shot through him and for a moment paused their race. Her eyes grabbed his. She needed to see his eyes. Those soft Bobby eyes. The eyes that never lied to her. And what she saw there! She gasped. He was desperate for her. No one, _no one_ had ever looked at her that way before. She almost didn't recognize him. His face so close and so distorted with need.

"Stop?" He said heavily, unblinking, chest heaving.

"Go" she shot back, reaching between them and unsnapping her jeans at the same moment.

"Here?" Surprise and longing.

"Yes, here." Her lips moved across his jaw to his ear. Tonguing and tugging at the lobe. "Right now." she whispered reaching between them pulling at his belt managing to undo it. "Now."

Need.

She bucked against him to be released "Down, She said urgently "down." Their lips gripped and smacked as they tried to kiss and undress her at once. He slid her up to face him again, her jeans dangling oddly from one leg. The material of his suit was cool and coarse against her bare thighs.

"My panties" she said between hot wet kisses and the two little words almost finished him. Sure enough the wet black lace was still in place, like the last stand of a fallen army. He reached between them juggling her a little, bouncing her high on his abdomen so he could and tear at his own pants and underwear. He got the material off him just enough to bob free. He was so painfully hard. Painfully.

"You sure?" he managed one last time against her ear. He might die, but he would stop. "Tell me." he panted.

"Bobby I need you." the words were a whine of desperation.

"Tell me what you need." he pulled back to see her.

"I need you." She looked down. He used cheek and lips and nose to nuzzle her back up to face the step they were about to take.

"Where?" Even now he wouldn't give. Wouldn't cut her any slack.

"Inside me." she whispered. He was so close she could see amber galaxies in his iris.

On a moan he grabbed the damp crotch of her underwear pulling it to one side. She was so ready, she left a glistening trail on his fingers and knuckles. He pinned her to the wall with his great mass and pushed in, hard, harder then he intended. She screeched. And his hand flew up to cover her mouth cold reason flooding him as he remembered where they were.

For Alex the pain was like a slap in the face.

Tears pricked her eyes.

Suddenly the haze was gone.

The world came into hyperfocus.

The brightness of the light, the press of his palm across her mouth, the smell of sex, the push of his member.

Goren.

Bobby.

Inside her.

For a moment she wanted to stop. But it was just their disparity of size and their awkward execution. Every movement was a battle with gravity, like an unseen hand pressing her more deeply on to him. And she squawked her pain at that into the warm damp of his palm. Once he was lodged deeply in her he replaced that palm with his mouth smothering any remaining discomfort with teeth and tongue.

"Quiet." he murmured breathlessly glancing at the door. "Someone might..."

"You're fucking huge." she gasped all delicacy gone because she was being pulled apart by him. It was the strangest sensation, no floor, no ceiling to anchor her, just Bobby spreading her wide, invading her vagina.

"Too much?" he bit out. "I'm sorry." the words fanned over her ear. He felt like scum. The worst kind of animal. He was hurting her. Banging her awkwardly up against a wall? Why couldn't he ever control his needs when it came to her? He wanted to give her so much. He wanted to be a better man. Not this. Not here.

A dappled light came in the window of the condo. They were hidden from view beneath the impressive length of his black overcoat. He held her tightly and let her adjust. Cheek to cheek expressions locked in pleasure pain. Bodies in a temporary stasis with only the invisible subtle internal pulsing, shifting and squeezing of muscles out of use.

"We can stop." he ground out while her tight little body massaged him in ways he had never experienced and it was _so good_. Knee bucklingly good. So he locked those joints, pushing his legs back poker straight, concave knees. And he tried hard to get his brain out of his penis to focus on her, on her comfort. But then she squeezed him and fuck it felt so GOOOOD.

"We can stop." He heaved again even as he tightened his buttocks and flexed his hips into her.

"No. Give it to me. I can take it."

Had hotter words ever been spoken?

"Eames." He breathed between clenched teeth "You are so tight." he whispered his voice unsteady. "So soft."

She wriggled unconsciously feeling pressure from the depth and girth of him in her bottom. "It's never been like this. Oh God." she called her voice feminine and husky.

If possible he got just a little bit harder. He loved that. He loved that he was taking her to new places. He loved that he was a giant inside her beautiful body. He showed his pleasure with a wet, wild, sloppy kiss. Tongues duelling both inside and outside of mouths, saliva spilling over.

"Move." she urged arching into him restlessly, suddenly desperate for friction and what she knew it would bring.

And he did. _**God he did.**_

Pulling back and diving in, gripping and kneading her ass and thighs hard. Bruisingly hard. Grunting with pleasure and exertion. Her teeth rattled as her back slammed rhythmically into the wall. And she stayed with him hotly saying his name over and over and over in various tones and pitches "Bobby, Bobby, Bobby, Bobby." like some sexual mantra. It went on and on, their coupling. She felt needy, pre-orgasmic and achy all at the same time. She pushed her face into the collar of his shirt to feel his warm neck against her cheek then sunk her teeth in. She couldn't help it. She needed to bite down it was so uncomfortable and so amazing. Her thighs chaffed and burned. But she let her eyes flutter shut and she thought about him, about how he looked, how he felt, how he smelled, how he was taking her soft and smooth like velvet then rough and fast like a jackhammer, making her feel so small and so owned. Then inside her body coiled like a spring. She could feel it, the beautiful tightening radiating outward each muscle seizing. And when it hit her, when she burst, her eyes about rolled back in her head. She had only thought she had orgasmed before today.

"I'm gonna come" eventually in a hot hoarse whisper, a voice she scarcely recognised. She was slumped into him not bearing her weight at all anymore. After a few short pounding thrusts that had her bucking with their force, everything was oddly still. In the calm Alex suddenly had an image of herself (on the inside) coated, filled, totally possessed by Robert Goren.

"Sorry." he said panting flipping them so he could let his head loll against the wall. He gazed blindly at the ceiling then slid them slowly to the floor still inside her. "You didn't..."

"I did." Her first penetration orgasm. **_And what a fucking orgasm!_** She couldn't help but smile a little hysterically still wildly out of breath.

"And I didn't protec...' she pressed a finger, then her lips to his.

No talk.

Not reality.

Not now.


	24. Chapter 24

From time to time she would just say it, in her head, out loud if she was alone. _**I had sex with Bobby. I had sex with Bobby. I had sex with Bobby.** _The emphasis on I. The emphasis on Bobby. The emphasis on sex. _**Sex, sex, sex.**_ She couldn't fathom it. What they had done. Where he had been. It had been wild. It had been completely reckless. It had been like a nature show, just drop trou and fuck (minus the trou in nature of course). Obviously neither of them had cared that they were working. That they were at an active crime scene. That they were engaging in lude behaviour which was a dismissible offence. That they could have cross contaminated the evidence with their own … fluids.

A woman had been killed there.

Murdered. Brutally. And they really hadn't cared. Not at all. Never gave her a thought once they started. Alex repeated that to herself too, trying to compel a guilt response. Telling herself she was a horrible person. But honestly she didn't feel it. She had waited 4374 days for that moment. She had put in the time. Maybe Jane Walston would understand.

They had picked themselves up off the floor that day in a daze of satisfaction and awkwardness, straightened their clothes and left. Then promptly turned around and came right back when they realised the contents of his portfolio were still scattered everywhere.

Alex had been a wet, sticky mess. She'd smelled of Bobby and sex. They had climbed into the black SUV the only crack in her facade came when she handed him the keys. She just wanted to curl up and blank out. Which was what she had done, in perfect silence, for a while. But then she was drawn back by the throbbing. Reliving and reliving and reliving. She was achy, not just there - although yes there - but there was a warm fatigue deep in her muscles like after a good workout and a persistent burn on her outer thighs and bum where she knew she would find bruises from his grip. But heaven help her even the soreness was arousing, arousing proof that it hadn't been a dream. And so she sat in the passengers seat transfixed by the memory of him plowing into her. She'd asked him to stop at her apartment. And in a moment of acute panicky paranoia wondered if, shower or not, everyone at Major Case would just know.

"Eames?"

She made a noise of acknowledgement. Glancing at him briefly. He looked _so_ concerned. She felt a tug at that, right in her chest over her heart.

"Are you okay?" his brows knitted together. "Did I hurt you?"

She didn't meet his eyes. "I'm fine." She would have to kill him if he talked to her right now. She felt so exposed and fragile.

He got that. She was throwing off waves of 'leave me alone'. Her body rigid, her shoulders angled toward the window. But he suddenly felt like this was a bellwether moment. Without another word he took her hand in his and pressed his lips to it.

And then he held on tight.

And so did she.


	25. Chapter 25

They hadn't spoken about anything but the case since that day. They were making eye contact. In fact their eyes were shouting at each other, biting into each other. But that was the extent of their communication. She wondered if he wanted her again. She wondered why he hadn't called her off hours. She wondered a lot of things but didn't ask.

He cornered her in the break room 2 days later, so close she could smell his spicy aftershave. As he'd moved toward her, her heart had skipped. Being close to him now was overwhelming, a sensory explosion. He looked so powerful, beautiful in his dark navy suit and eggplant tie. She'd tried to stuff those feelings back in the box marked UNAUTHORIZED where they used to live, but her body knew that everything had changed.

_**This is it. We're going to talk about it, or make an appointment to talk, or whatever we need to do.**_

Instead he said, "The apartment. I figured out what was bothering me."

"What?" Her voice was clipped with disappointment. "Vacuum marks in the carpet? Maybe some obscure architectural detail?" she mocked drawing from their storied past.

"No." his lips twitched "Nothing so telling." His eyes bored into her. "It was cold."

"What?"

"Cold the day we found it."

"I don't remember that."

"I do because a CSI made a comment. I'd forgotten. I wanted to check the thermostat and find out if it's regulated by the tenant or the property management company and when it was turned off."

It turned out his hunch was spot on. The 'smart thermostat' with it's insanely detailed records were emailed to them within the day. Add that to the DNA, which had finally come back and given them proof positive that Tyler Mayford had been intimate with Jane Walston, and this case was right where it should be. The charges laid and an evidence based not anecdotal timeline was emerging.

The discovery of DNA evidence was another good bit of detective work that Bobby could claim credit for. Because he'd asked CSU to take the accessories and it had turned out that Mayford's cuff links were his downfall. They'd been slathered in vaginal fluids. Alex shook her head and rolled her eyes when she'd read the report. How deranged, wearing cufflinks to a murder. And then to have them be your undoing. She said as much to Bobby later over a table of empty chinese food cartons in a reception room at 1PP.

"That guy is done. Even if he recants we've got him." Bobby said around a mouthful of Szechuan beef. The clock on the wall ticked 7:17pm and the bullpen was clearing.

"The partner." she sighed the two words they didn't want to consider. If not for the bizarre post-mortem 'surgery' (the extraction of the heart) this case would have been over. The second person had really just defiled a corpse. But there was a savagery there that they couldn't ignore. It spoke of behaviour that might escalate.

"We have to find him first."

"Want profile him? Go over what we have one more time?"

"Mayford has the information we need," she spooned a bit of wonton broth into her mouth. "I just have to get in ther..."

"No." the word flew out of his mouth before he could stop it.

"You can't say no Bobby." she spoke softly restraining her natural urge to explode, but she did abruptly push back from the table. For so long she'd done what she needed to do for the job and for herself. Alone. Alex was her own law. But this wasn't about the job, this was about _them_ couched in work talk.

"We don't need him. It's all here." Goren gestured at the files.

"It might be here. After another few days of leg work, uncooperative girlfriends, a couple of interviews in drug dens..." Her face was serious "but it's definitely inside Mayford's head and he's just sitting at Rikers waiting for a little incentive."

"What kind of incentive? The 'feel you up' kind?" she heard him swear under his breath.

"I can handle myself." Protectiveness, this was new. It made her feel conflicted.

"I know." he slowly unbuttoned the second button on his shirt and pulled back the collar. She went a very rosy shade. There on his neck was a bite mark so bold you could practically see her misaligned bicuspid. And the topper was a vivid hickey which sat proud of his collarbone.

"You're lucky. You got off easy." she said and buried her smiling face in a file.

"You're right, I _got off_ easy." he repeated. Her eyes flew up to meet his, she'd walked right into that.

"Good one." she gave him a look. Then sat back in her seat. She could see every minute of that day flipping through his mind.

"Stop doing that."

"What?"

"Remembering." she threw at him then realized how nuts she sounded. His lips twitched again and he let his gaze travel slowly up her body as if he had every right in the world.

Almost as if in agreement they both looked out into the squad room. Their room (the room for visiting officers) was a glass box totally unsuitable for sexual shenanigans. Goren extended his long legs under the table hooking his feet around the stainless steel legs of her chair and reeled her in like a fish, a steady loud scraping noise marking her approach. With her tucked in tight he drew his knees up catching her legs between his.

She kept looking at the file. If she looked at it any harder it would burst into flames "What are you doing?"

"Touching."

"Dangerous."

"A little" he squeezed bringing her thighs together.

"We can't do this here." she decided to be the voice of reason, although this was hot.

"Not even in that dark corner back there?"

"Not even." She didn't have to look. There was no dark corner. The room was a brightly lit 10 by 10. But she closed her eyes briefly and imagined.

He looked down at a form in front of him from Rikers, information he'd already committed to memory. Then leaned his chin into his palm his knuckles almost over his lips he said "I want to fuck you again."

Well that hit the mark! She sat up straighter a zing went through her. He sounded like a caveman. **_Just what every girl dreams of hearing._** "Is that what it was?" she asked.

"I think so. Hard, fast, messy." he made sure they were gazing deeply at each other when he said it.

She felt that familiar gush of heat and wet and suddenly she was considering it. Considering a quickie. "Where would we…." She was completely in his thrall.

"Meet me in the…."

His words were cut off because of a looming figure outside the door. Hannah's broad back cast a long shadow over their moment. He was in conversation with another officer so they had time to compose and straighten up without scrutiny. The door opened and he swung in on the frame surveying the clutter of food and files and photos.

"Dinner meeting with the Chief of D's" he explained his coat and briefcase because it was early by their workaholic standards. "Tell me something good."

So they did. Their icing on the cake, DNA.

"So it's all over but the cryin'" Hannah boomed.

"We have an issue." Eames tempered he man's enthusiasm, letting him in on their theory. "Our victim was gutted like a fish and discarded in a seedy part of the Bronx. Tyler Mayford is sick but he's a different kind of sick."

"He's an affluent degenerate. Posh apartments, erotic asphyxiation with an appetite for fit dainty blondes." Goren was the voice of absolute certainty. "It doesn't make sense. There's something else… There's someone else."

"He's a smart guy, maybe he switched it up to hide his less palatable needs?" the captain suggested.

"With what benefit? This man has his drugs on delivery. He drives a Porsche 911 Carrera Cabriolet on a city lawyer's salary. He doesn't play it down for the commoners that surround him. He doesn't get dirty and he doesn't scare. We're trying to get the timeline fixed. We talked to the property management company, on the evening of the murder the outside temperature was 33. Unseasonably low. Inside the apartment someone switched off the heating unit."He gestured at his sheets "Here…"he pointed "Utilities are paid by the resident and billed as an add-on. The records are very specific." He held them up. "We checked Tilton was on a flight to the Bahamas with his wife when the temperature adjustment was made."

"So you think Mayford killed the victim then lowered the temps to buy time and what called a cleaner?."

"Not much time. But some." Eames came in, "Bright boy like that, open the windows, the bathtub, a little cold water, there was a hardwired commercial grade ice maker in the kitchen. ME says the vic was bathed."

"No, not a cleaner."Goren added "More like a patsy. The dump wasn't a professional job. An accessory at best."

Hannah sighed clearly disturbed, "So we have a Dr. Megele roaming the streets of New York."

The detectives nodded in unison, pleased that their captain saw and supported their concerns.

"Where do we go from here?" Hannah used 'team' speak. Alex lowered her face to smile, because Joseph Hannah was staring down a hundred dollar porterhouse steak, fine glass of Shiraz and a Cuban cigar chaser very shortly, the brass knew how to do it right. Not exactly the pavement pounding and paper cuts that were in their future. They were a team of unequals. Then on the heels of that bitter thought, a wave of pleasure when she remembered that she got to do it all those things with Bobby. A new Bobby. Her lover Bobby. A warmth spread through her and suddenly work didn't seem like work anymore.

"Well here are the prints we managed to get, partials, latents. Walston, Tilton, Mayford and about 7 others all confirmed past residents." But one of these things is not like the others." Bobby held up a RAP sheet with a picture of a scraggly looking sneering man. Garrett Sikes. "Not a member of the fortune 500."

"_The Bronx dealer_?" Hannah's brows went up.

"The dealer."

"How in the heck did that pathetic penny-ante dealer get access to a furnished waterfront penthouse?" The captain vocalized what they were all thinking.

Eames shrugged deliberately not looking at Bobby. "I guess my psycho will get his date after all."


	26. Chapter 26

Bright and early the next morning, nursing very large coffees Goren and Eames rolled up the I278, enroute to visit the talented Mr. Mayford on Rikers Island. Eames had called him that once and they'd both laughed, this case had that same feeling of boundaryless, conscienceless, wealth. But now, steeling herself to sit with him again she was thinking he didn't deserve the moniker.

_**Scum.**_ Alex thought. That fit perfectly.

If only everything about her life were that clear. Bobby was right here beside her and yet completely untouchable. They were getting along. In fact they were clicking better then they had in a long time. They were teasing each other, smiling, laughing more then they had in a years so that wasn't the issue. He hadn't called her, hadn't come over, and there hadn't been any encore performances (of a sexual kind) and it had been three days. She wasn't quite sure what to make of the little exchange that Hannah (AKA cock block) had interrupted yesterday, but her pride wouldn't let her ask. And in retrospect maybe it was best they had been distracted from the plan to have more inappropriate sex. It was too much like Goren and Eames tough as nails cops banging it out, not enough Bobby and Alex bona fide couple desiring and respecting each other. She worried that maybe this _exhibitionist fucking_ was all he wanted her for. She worried that he thought she wasn't girlfriend material, that she didn't have the softness a man needed in a woman.

Or maybe, she thought gripping the wheel, she was out of his system. Imagine if they'd waited this long and once was enough. A rueful smile played on her lips. Then in the next moment that smile dried and crumbled. She wanted him again. She wanted him now. She wanted him forever. She admitted that inside where no one would know. She was 1000% in love with Robert Goren. In love with a cop. Again. Suddenly it wasn't just something she said. Suddenly it wasn't just devotion and care she'd felt for years. _It was real_. So mature. So passionate. So sweet. So terrifying. Her eyes shut briefly as she let the feeling course through her, the love she only now saw as whole.

"Hey. Open your eyes when you're driving." she heard a hint of laughter in his admonishment. And knowing that he was happy made her happy.

"Sorry. Just thinking."

"Yeah, back in the cage with Mayford." He nodded. And all the good will evaporated. She almost tore him a new one. Mayford! Was he serious? This was a job. Didn't he know her at all? Didn't he have a clue about who and what she'd been obsessing over about day and night for the last 3 days? Fine. If he wanted to pretend that nothing had changed and that they were just an apathetic crime fighting duo, if that's what got him through the day, then fine. **_J__ust step over the bloody puddle from my broken heart. Mind you don't slip._**

"My maniac admirer." she offered blandly, going along with the path he'd set them on.

"Don't let him touch you." he expelled suddenly as if he couldn't keep it in.

"It's not like I enjoy it Bobby."

"Just don't." he pled a little.

"I'll do what I need to do." Mayford was nothing. He was trying to play her and Alex only felt revulsion. She looked down on him with absolute clarity. And she wasn't even his type. Now that he was locked up she was certain the flirtation would end.

"If you encourage that personality type it doesn't end well."

"You would know." she muttered.

"This again, really?"

"You were in love with a serial killer." She dug trying to share her pain.

Along with his white whale Wallace there had been Nelda Carlson, Leslie LeZard all murderesses all casting their deranged spell on him. Their images were etched on her mind. She'd had to stand by and watch his self-destructive train wreck of a personality over and over again. But Nicole, well she was in a class all her own. It had taken a long time for Alex to realize she was jealous. Jealous (even now) that Bobby had been nicer to - more engaged by - a filicidal nut job then he was her. And it didn't help that whenever Alex had gotten into the interrogation room with that she-devil she'd always lost her way. She'd always ended up feeling out-witted and as unremarkable as grey wallpaper.

"Where in the hell is your filter?" he was furious. Bobby felt like a spectator hit in the head by a fly ball. She kept assaulting him with his old mistakes using these guerilla tactics. He genuinely didn't know why. He couldn't read her, if he could, he'd have known that Alex felt like they'd had an unwritten appointment with conversation for years and now that she'd _been_ with him (in the biblical sense), now that he was worried about Mayford, it was a cosmic message to go for the jugular.

"Turned off." She was tired of wearing kid gloves. She was tired of asking him questions and accepting no answer. She wanted to know. She _had a right_ to know. "Did you cry for Nicole when she died?"

"I didn't love Nicole and no I didn't cry."

"I'm surprised, at both."

"You blindside me now? It's been years."

"She really is gone." They'd thought for at least 2 years (even with the heart) that she might just reappear but she never had.

"Yeah so drop it."

"No." she snapped. She was feeling scrappy.

"No?"

"You heard me I said no. I have a few questions about her."

"Why?" He sounded tired.

"Slots right in" She elaborated "To this case. The _things_ we do to close them" She knew Bobby'd had flings, dalliances, since Nicole but she'd been the last to 'butter his parsnips'.

"Things." he looked at her, wondering what stupid reckless thing she had in mind, worrying about Tyler Mayford.

"Yes. Things."

"Fine." he said on a sigh. "What do you want to know?"

"Who do you miss more Nicole or Frank?"

Hearing her quote Declan made the hair stand up on the back of his neck. "Are you trying to be a cruel?"

A little. "No." she said "I'm trying to understand you, it feels overdue." **_Considering what we did together._**

"I don't miss either of them." he said quickly and without consideration.

"Want to take a second." Her voice oozed with sarcasm.

"No. Not really." That question had plagued him for years. He'd given up days to it. "Frank was an idea and Nicole was a labyrinth." He said softly poetically.

"What?"

"Can we drop this." Suddenly it all felt like too much.

"I want to know what you mean." she held her ground.

"okay. _Okay!" H_e gave in angrily. But even annoyed he knew this was momentous he was going to try and let her in._ "_When I was a boy I read a lot." He said looking at the roof of the car "My favourite books were always the ones about family. You know, that special bond between siblings. I loved The Hardy Boys, the Pevensies' adventures in Narnia, The Outsiders. I was always working on a story. I - I guess I knew that my family was different. I just - I just wanted to know what it was supposed to look like. Supposed to feel like."

Bobby looked at his clasped hands and imagined it was a session. He tried to imagine Eames the way he did Gyson. His gut rolled with anxiety because Eames wasn't obligated to be impartial or reserve judgement. But this was a test. Could he be honest with a normal person, who had normal expectations? Could he risk something?

"When I pulled my nose out of the books there was reality. Frank was hardly ever home. H- he could be mean. Mean like our dad, his dad. He took my things, things I treasured and broke them or sold them. I knew what love looked like in books so I pretended. I pretended for as long as I could that Frank cared. That we could be a team." he laughed a little on the word.

A lump the size of a fist lodged in her throat. She didn't want to know this. Or maybe she did, in exactly the way you wanted to see the body of a loved one. The way you wanted to know what had stopped highway traffic on a rainy evening. But he talked on like a robot, like this had been fighting to get past his lips for a long long time.

"Frank left for good when I was 14. In 33 years I heard from him maybe 5 times. When I confronted him after D.. Donny he was already dead." he turned and looked at her for a moment "The place was disgusting... and he.. he was starting to decay. His teeth, his mind..." he stopped and sucked in a breath.

"That life... His life...Frank couldn't care about anyone including himself. I miss the idea of a brother. I don't miss Frank." he said pressed his forehead to the cool window and let out a long shaky breath. He had grown comfortable with that answer. He was silent for so long that Alex thought the conversation was over. And she wished desperately he'd say more. The topic was horrible but she could remember a time when he'd have met her questions with silence.

"Nicole did something to me." he unknowingly answered her plea.

"What?" she was almost afraid to ask.

"I don't know. My blood was hot, my synapses were firing, running to keep up, puzzling it out. I get hard just thinking about it." his eyes quickly darted to her "That was a figure of speech, I didn't… I never… She was evil, she was a murderer, she disgusted me."

Something in Alex died a little. What a figure of speech to choose. Imagine holding that many powerful conflicting emotions about someone. And she knew he would never ever feel that passionately about her.

"Did you sleep with her?" She didn't know where this boldness was coming from, but she had a right to know his sexual history. In the back of her mind came the droning advice of a generation, a PSA she knew better then her own address: 'when you have sex you're sleeping with every partner your partner has ever slept with.' Who'd written that? It was like they talking directly to her.

There was a long pause, then "No."

Was he lying?

"Did you have to think about that?" she reached for her sunglasses because she didn't want him to see her eyes during this conversation.

"I was trying to decide if it was any of your business." his voice was flat and wintery and in that moment she remembered how mean he could be. It stung. In the wake of his admissions about Nicole his sharp comment hurt more then it should have. She felt that telltale tightening in her chest. She was a total wimp when it came to this man. "Is that all you got?" he challenged oblivious to the fact that she had weakened.

"Yeah, that's all." she manage to say, just above a whisper.

"Really? Why stop there. Forget Nicole, ask me about an actual lay? Sarah? Lily?"

Her gut jumped in pain. But she stayed silent.

He knew he'd gone to far.

"I'm sorry."

Nothing. Her aviatored gaze straight ahead. Her posture rigid. But not a sound.

"Eames. Eames I'm sorry. That was uncalled for."

She ignored him.

"I'm not good for you Eames. I hurt you." he reached over and rubbed her thigh and a muscle twitched beneath his hand "I'm sorry." he repeated.

"Oh don't be. I'm just one of the guys."


	27. Chapter 27

Okay so maybe he did really like her, Tyler not Bobby.

And only as far as a totally soulless, emotionally void person could like another person. The ground rules were set immediately when he refused to respond unless she delivered the questions, reducing Bobby to unnecessary.

"I missed you." he looked at her like his favourite toy.

"Why?"

"Maybe I'm falling in love with you." Alex gave his lawyer an annoyed look and the little sock puppet in a suit had the nerve to shrug. He actually shrugged!

"I put you in here." she reminded.

"Or maybe that was him" he gestured vaguely at Bobby "and you're praying for my release." Insanity defense, it had to be, because he was definitely crazier.

"Tell me about him then," She slid over picture of Sikes. "If you really love me."

"Only if you let me hold your hand." it was like he'd had their SUV bugged, managing to zero in on that point of contention within five minutes. More likely, Alex thought, he had a radar for discomfort.

"If you try and hurt me I'll knock you out." she told him, deciding that today she would show no weakness. She'd already won.

"I would never Alex. Besides..." he held up his cuffed wrists then lowered them to the table with a resounding clank.

She held out her left hand, to keep her dominant one at the ready because maybe his fixation with her was a ruse, a vengeful ruse. She pushed the pictures at him again. Mayford leaned over and took a good long look.

"Dealer. Addict. He was there. He was so high. Like an animal." distaste marred his features.

"He was inside the apartment. You invited him?"

"I called… someone else… they sent him."

"For drugs?"

Instead of answering Mayford added his other hand to the mix, massaging her palm with both thumbs. It was the most bizarre circumstance. Alex felt repulsed and yet she had to admit he knew how to manipulate muscles (and people).

"All legal love. Just a little something to clear my mind and help me sleep."

"What?"

"Valium."

What was he playing at? Maybe he was having fun, bouncing into the fray, teasing at guilt, then feigning innocence.

"That was the drug that was used to sedate our victim." she told him what he already knew.

"Then this man must be the one you're looking for." he gestured at the photos then went back to his bizarre seduction rubbing her hand between his.

"Where can we find him?"

Abruptly Mayford pushed her sleeve up to the elbow. Alex jumped and tried to pull back." I just want to see more of your lovely skin." he slid a finger up the blue green line in the centre of her forearm. Pay to play. That was the implication. Alex let out a wobbly breath and forced herself to stay still under his touch.

"As I said, he" Mayford stabbed the mug shot "was new. He wa…" he stopped speaking abruptly.

"What?" she demanded, getting impatient.

"What will you give me for a phone number or even an address? A kiss? Or maybe come round here and sit on my lap?" She heard Bobby move restlessly, then heard the horn like scrape of his chair on concrete but she refused to look at him.

"Sexual bribery." She said.

"Not if we enjoy it."

"I won't." Alex was wound so tight she could use a valium.

"You might."

She sat back, pulled her arm away and considered his question/proposition. She'd never done anything like this, not in over 20 years of service, enticed a suspect, a murderer. But Alex was changing. She was feeling restless these days. Meh. Like she was sliding ever deeper into middle age with nothing but more of the same on her horizon. No spontaneous trips in the offing to Bora Bora, no bungee jumping, no heli-skiing or shark diving. Just these dull grey rooms full of dull grey souls. She played it too safe. She was too boyish and butch. She was too much the scenery not enough the destination.

Look at Bobby, look at how he'd responded immediately to just a few tweaks. She saw herself at the stylist pointing at 'Golden Blonde" instead of "Medium Ash Blonde", buying expensive stretchy pants, for a new expensive stretchy pass time, which had lead to a new reverence for the shape and curve of her body. And she hadn't imagined that Hannah was being nicer to her as well. And now this. Men didn't look at her like this. They didn't obsess over her. Mayford was outrageously off-centre but still his unwavering interest felt like a message. Something bigger then her inhibition was calling her to break out. Maybe it was a midlife crisis. Maybe it was wrong. But she didn't care what was spurring the change she just knew she was going to use it.

"Give me the info first and we'll see if it's worth a lap dance." she said at last.

"You'll just leave with it."

"I honour my word." she told him.

"Do I have your word? Because I'd like more then that." His lawyer shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Alex wondered if the podgy little man was a mute. Then it occurred to her that maybe Mayford had forbidden him to speak. "I'd like to have you. Now." he said as though she were a collectible.

"Of course you would." She spat out harshly. She could be as mean as she wanted to, because she was fairly certain now that nothing could deter him. "You want to spout some random address or phone number, maybe your chiropractor or butcher, and I'll sit on your dick for nothing?" She was crude because she was feeling that way. Totally unencumbered. "Ummm no, I wasn't born yesterday. No, you give me an address we catch him, then you get what you want."

"A conjugal?"

"Oh fuck off." she stood and turned to Bobby. "Let's go."

"Wait. Wait. Give me your word and shake on it." Mayford suddenly begged. And she knew she had him. This little bit of excitement, his thrilling manipulation, the promise of another visit was better then the bars of his cell and the mashed potato facsimile he'd had for lunch. She slid her hand into his and sealed their deal. He quickly kissed it before she knew what was happening. Alex made a great show of wiping it angrily on her pants. And that seemed to turn him on more. Reluctance was his aphrodisiac.

He beckoned she leaned in ever so slightly (not close enough for any more spontaneous affection) just close enough that he could whisper an address.

* * *

After the interview her partner had limped through the layers of prison security like she'd hobbled him. Actually it was the rage in his gait and his eyes and every pore. And before they'd gotten into the car, right in the maximum security, heavily surveilled parking lot he roared, "What was that!?"

"What?" she was nonchalant. He stopped her from getting into the cab of the vehicle by grabbing her forearm and moving her back against the car. The 12 year ban was lifted, let _all kinds_ of touching begin.

"What do you think you're doing?" she said low and controlled shrugging him off. No man manhandled Alexandra Eames (not even if she _was_ inappropriately aroused by it) "I can take you, don't forget that." And she could, tactically, he'd let her try once.

"You're playing with fire."

"He's in jail."

"He's IN HOLDING." he said between clenched teeth. "Come on Eames I don't have to tell you that. How many of these things have gone south at trial."

She ignored him. Pushing past him. In the car she pulled out her cell and called it in, the address, she'd worked hard for. Let the 4-5 chase it down, it was their collar if the information was good.

"I'm working this case."

"You're leading a killer on."

"I'm doing my job."

"Your job is promising to sit on his dick? Are you a whore?" he closed his eyes and grabbed the back of his neck.

"No I just play one for the NYPD." Making great effort to keep calm.

"That guy has money, long arms, don't be so comforted by the fact that he's in _there_." he gestured angrily at the building. Then he shook his head. "Stupid. So stupid." he muttered.

"Oh just stop it Bobby." she couldn't stomach his hypocrisy on this issue.

"Stop what? Stop caring?" he demanded "Say nothing when you…" he didn't even want to think it. "You're getting reckless."

She didn't like that. Not one bit. She didn't like having her new carpe diem dismissed as bad behaviour by the morality police beside her. It made her feel foolish. And she'd never made him feel that way, not in all the years she'd watched his inappropriate behaviour. And really _how rich_ considering they were carrying on together, that was pretty reckless. "Reckless? Fucking… Wasn't that how you described it? At a crime scene. That's reckless. Where was your overdeveloped morality then?" There was a hysterical edge to her voice now.

"Just calm down." Who the hell was this person? And what had they done with Eames, reasonable, calm, rational Eames.

"No. No! You don't get to do that, insult me then act like the voice of reason."

"You wanted me to go insane in there!" he accused.

"I was working the case!" she all but screamed.

"You are not going back in with him, collar or no collar, deal or no deal." he made the entitled pronouncement.

"You're a piece of work you know that. Acting like you have a right, like we're more to each other then just this job."

"We are more. And we come first."

"Are you okay?" she pressed a hand to his forehead. "There is no you and me. You aren't capable of a relationship" she annunciated, "Look at how you're treating me Bobby."

He was silent. The supercomputer in his cranium flipping back over the moments of this case, examining the details of the fledgling relationship he had with Eames. His own sociopathic tendencies becoming clear. _**You could have gone either way.**_ The words haunted him and seemed to have purchase in the face of his own intimacy issues, his own disconnection. He felt fear. Afraid that he'd been horrible to her, yes, but even more afraid that he hadn't_ realized_ it. Women. He didn't get women. Anatomically he got them. But he always struggled with their tsunamis of emotion. He had purposely kept Alex at arm's length after they'd had sex. He had justified the distance, reasoning that she needed space, reasoning that they saw each other entirely too much. But if anything she needed more, more of them, as a couple.**_ She is a woman._** He said in his head as though he needed reminding. He was so used to seeing her as Eames: brother cop. Workmate.

"I didn't plan for it to go this way." he admitted on a sigh.

"You mean you have a plan? Hopes? Expectations?" she said "I thought you got what you wanted."

He huffed in disbelief "Us, up against that wall? That doesn't even scratch the surface of what I want." her eyes flew to his. So much hunger. She wondered if he saw the same in her. The thought made her uncomfortable. Her lips pursed angrily.

"Just know that when it comes to this case you're a sexist."

"What?"

"You heard me. Mayford is as likely to stalk me as Nicole was you. But I'm a woman. I'm vulnerable and weak right?" She flipped her hair back and it cascaded down again. Then she paused for a moment before rooting in the back seat. She pulled a small bottle of hand sanitizer out of her bag and slathering it liberally over her hands and forearms trying to get the stink off.

"I don't think you're weak. I think he's dangerous and not convicted of a crime yet." Bobby spoke slowly as if she were a child. But the problem was that she wasn't scared. Not at all. Part of her would love it if that loser showed up on her doorstep and tried to strangle her. She would make him a victim. Whether it was bravado or not. She felt strong.

"I'll do what I need to do."

"Nicole did." he said quietly.

"Did what?"

"You said the likelihood is the same. So I'm letting you know that she got too close for comfort." At her furrowed brow he went on "I - I got home one night and she was there sitting in my livingroom like she had every right."

"You never said anything." she sat looking at him. And with each passing second she looked more and more as if she didn't know him. In fact he watched her physically moving away, she had wedged her shoulders in between the door and the seat, opposing him. He'd seen that look before, a look of deep betrayal. **_Dammit._**

"No, because it wasn't relevant to any cases at the time. And I wasn't in any danger - afterward anyway."

"Really. And you thought you were a good judge of that." her tone and eyes were scathing.

"I did."

She turned to start the car.

"Don't you want to know what she wanted?"

"I know what she wanted." **_What's mine, mine, mine_** her id screamed. She merged into traffic.

"What do you know?"

"I know that I'm done with you."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Alex laughed without humour. "I want to go back, back to being indifferent. I don't want to know this."

"I didn't sleep with her. She was seductive of course." his matter of factness was irritating, "But she didn't come to my house for that. She wanted domesticity. She wanted to have dinner, cuddle on the couch and maybe stab me in the back, literally."

"Stop talking. Stop. Just stop." She felt like she was about to lose her breakfast.

He couldn't though, because she was avoiding his eye and shutting down. Fear seized him and he wondered if he was ruining everything. "She'd lost Gwen, she was as adrift as I've ever seen her. I think she saw me as family so she came home."

Alex abruptly pulled the car into a strip mall parking lot, threw it into park and jumped out. If he wouldn't stop _moving-his-lips_ then... it was fight or flight. She really did feel a bit nauseous, the cold air helped but she couldn't listen to him justify Nicole's behaviour while feeling so personally marginalized. She leaned against the bumper and took several long deep breaths.

"Are you okay?" he asked when she was inside.

"Fine."

"I didn't give her a port. I told her to go. I called local PD…"

"Do I have to leave again?" She shot at him.

"No."

At last she said "You didn't call _me_. You didn't tell _me_."

"I didn't tell you about the birthday and Christmas cards either." he admitted looking at his knees. "I felt like it was my burden…"

"Or guilty pleasure." she spat "Are you sure you don't miss her more then Frank? She was so thoughtful." the sarcasm in her voice was toxic.

"You are vicious today." he said.

No she was hurt. She knew what he'd done, he'd kept it to himself because the secrecy made it special. That was the truth. Alex realized fully what she'd only intellectually known, Bobby hadn't been pining for her. Since the beginning of this thing they were doing, she'd felt like she wanted him more because she did.

This case was just a perfect fucking storm. A whirlpool sucking them down, smashing them together and then pulling them apart over and over, then bashing and battering them with their own flotsam and jetsam of emotions and baggage.

"So are you."


	28. Chapter 28

Alex tried her absolute best to be professional. But she was trapped. And trapped animals bit. She couldn't contain her anger. Meeting his innocent "Can you pass me that file?" by tossing it angrily across the divide. She felt shame wash up and threaten to swamp her, she'd never been so petty or so obvious with him. Not only did she feel she was showing her hand (oh how she wished she could be calm and unaffected), but she was acting so immaturely.

She sat back.

Without a word she pushed away from her desk and walked down the corridor toward the service elevators to breathe and bring herself down to a place where they could interact professionally. But before she could think at all he was behind her. Then he had her by the crook of her arm and was pushing her rather forcefully through a grey door marked Janitorial Services. She went because to resist would mean to draw undesired attention.

"What the hell!" she railed, stuffed between a shaggy mop and a deep stainless steel sink.

"Exactly." He shot back "What the hell?!"

"I'm getting out of here. You," she pointed at him with angry severity "wait 5 minutes before following me."

He didn't say a word. He grabbed her and kissed her hard. He pulled her against him. And she opened her mouth in surprise at his assault. He cupped the back of her head. And she made a noise a moan? A squeal? A tsk? It was all of the above. He pulled back just a fraction tenderizing her lips, drawing his up and down over hers very slowly. His hand was on her bottom again, it's favourite place. And everything in her just wanted to get closer. Crawl inside him. He was _so good_ at this. It was a Herculean effort but she did eventually wrench away, "Have you lost your mind?" She said in a hoarse whisper.

"Yes. I've finally gone fucking nuts and you're the reason." his whisper was just as raw.

"Is that why we're in here? For your _other_ therapy session? Am I your meds now? Me and my miracle crotch." she spun and faced the wall certain this was when the tears would finally get the better of her. She was on borrowed time with them anyway.

"Eames." his voice sounded so defeated, "Is that what you think? Is that how I've been treating you?"

"It doesn't matter." she looked up at the drop ceiling trying to counteract gravity stalling the falling wetness.

"Of course it does. I'm sorry" he was so soft "I want this to work."

"Well I don't." she said "I think this is proof that we made a mistake." She'd experienced everything from him since they'd started this, everything except intimacy, warmth and _ease_. It was so damn hard. Too hard. Maybe he couldn't do it. Maybe he just couldn't bridge the divide. So long working together, maybe that's where their future lay. As partners. Only partners. What were a few more years of suppressed emotion between friends?

His heart dropped. "No. You're just angry. I handled this badly. All of it."

"I helped." She should have put on the brakes before they'd gone and complicated everything. What had she been thinking? With all their baggage? Seeing each other all day every day? It was never going to work. She was behaving like an unstable adolescent. If there were a mirror here she wouldn't even have been able to look at herself in it. She was a basketcase. She turned to face him all wet lashes, hurt eyes and warning signs.

"All that Nicole stuff…" he started

She held up a hand "The past. I'm glad you told me. I just think we should move on from this."

"From us?"

"It was one time." she looked down at the ground as she said it then back up, "Let's call it curiosity and put it behind us."

"Work..."

"Should stay the same." she sighed "I can work with you. Can you work with me?"

"O- of course." he swallowed hard. He reached for her a little but let his hand drop.

She pushed past him and walked out the door and kept walking trying to move faster then her thoughts.

* * *

And they had worked seamlessly for the rest of the day, no sign of any strife or tension as long as they stayed on point. They just applied themselves to the job of closing cases, yes, Jane Walston's (transcribing recollections and recordings from the interview with Mayford) but also the 3 other open files on their docket.

All major cases were created equal on the squad floor, but not from the perspective of the higher ups. Detectives would often find their priorities 'shuffled'. Usually in response to media attention and public outcry. Jane Walston, while not a serial case had worked a subsect of the public into a frenzy. An influential group with free time and SUV's Alex smirked - the affluent, mobilized, social media savvy, soccer mom. So Jane had flown to the top of the pile. But this lull - with one suspect in custody the other in the wind - left room to revisit what had been set aside.

Reacquainting herself with one of those files Alex smiled. It was an art theft case. Their suspect in a 2 million dollar heist had a comical sheet. She flipped through 6 photocopies of postal requisitions for everything from jay walking to leaving the scene of an accident. Then there were a couple of shoplifting offences. He was petty criminal turned art theft mastermind. It felt so good to lower the stakes a little and focus on this for a while. No missing hearts like Jane's, or compromised ones like her own. She smiled again looking at the file.

"What's funny?" Bobby asked, his eyes warm and interested. He was seeking a connection in his way.

"Oh nothing." she shut it down immediately. "How's it going over there with the Schulz file?"

He just shrugged clearly not wanting to go down that banal road. "You want funny" he persisted pointing at his computer. "General Memo: Major Case Squad - Joseph Hannah, et al. Here's a quote from paragraph 2: 'Adequate bathroom facilities exist on the 11th floor of One Police Plaza to accommodate all 102 squad personnel as well as visitors and incidentals.' His eyes danced "People are sneaking down to the 4th floor to use the gilded cans meant for visiting dignitaries. Nothing like a little luxury when nature calls."

She tried not to, but her lower lip twitched and there was a ghost of a curve.

"I saw that." he smiled big and genuine. Damn if her icy heart didn't start to melt a little a short hour and fifteen minutes after making the resolution to freeze him out.

It was going to be a long day.

Scratch that, a long life.


	29. Chapter 29

When she got home there was nothing but time, wine and silence. It was a cocktail of misery for a tortured mind. She'd been telling the truth when he'd cornered her in the janitors closet, she genuinely wished to return to the balance and clarity she'd had before they'd been intimate. The act itself had been pure bliss but the aftermath much less so. Perhaps most gutting was that all the pain had it had come with some unsavoury personal truths. Alex had cultivated a lot of notions about who she was. Now she was faced with the fact she was as unreasonable, emotional and undiciplined as anyone on a busy city street. She was as silly as all women in love. She wanted to offer her heart on a platter and her body on a battered metal NYPD desktop. She'd taken a hard line with him, but who was she kidding she'd just been lashing out because of his confession.

**_Nicole. That Bitch._**

Alex had hated her back then and she hated her even more now. The serial killer had gone off like an A-bomb in their lives. Instinctively Alex had know she was and unholy blend of all of Bobby's biggest weaknesses. Nicole had been beautiful. She had been alluring. She'd been completely unstable. Arguably she'd been a genius. And the icing was her sick fascination. To be in a room with them, Alex gripped the kitchen countertop at the thought, the energy had been palpable.

Her hurt was ridiculous this late in the game. It was done. Nicole was a footnote. Punishing Bobby for his disposition smacked unfair even to her. She knew him. She knew why he acted the way he did. She knew about his childhood. His mother and his brother and their parasitical behaviour. She knew about his biological father and how that news had affected him. So maybe he had a dark side. So maybe he had urges, unacceptable ones. Maybe he'd been drawn to something dark and kindred in Nicole, even unknowingly.

No, not maybe, definitely.

And maybe Alex had no business judging those urges, especially retrospectively. She'd only been at home for an hour and the 'maybes' were circling and cawing overhead and trying to peck her eyes out. She still couldn't help recreating the timeline of their cases with this new information about Bobby and Wallace. Imagining the spectre of Nicole shadowing their every move, even now. She picked up the phone and called her sister just to get a break from herself. Liz's voice kept cutting in and out.

"I can't hear you. What are you doing?" Alex asked.

"Putting on my bra."

"What?!" she laughed "Why did you answer if you were busy."

"I'm not really busy. I'm going out, with Lauren." There was more shuffling, some fuzzy scrapping."You should come! We're headed your way." she enticed.

"I don't want to intrude."

"Intrude! Come on, we're friends not lovers. Honestly Al the more the merrier." It didn't take much to get her to agree, it beat pining for her partner in a borderline alcoholic fashion.

She'd been told to 'dress sexy.' She could barely contain her own sardonic laughter at that. She pulled on a standard non-work outfit. Pretty damn sensible. Dark blue jeans and a purple blouse. She stared hard at her reflection trying to remember, exactly what made this any different from what she wore 9 to 5, Monday to Friday. **_No gun, no badge, that's it._** She looked herself up and down in the full length mirror. A plain, crusty, cop. Deep set eyes, fine (and not so fine) lines from all that glowering at suspects. She pulled back the skin around her mouth then let it drop, doing that made her look like the joker. She tugged the elastic out of her hair and gratefully it softened her a bit.

"Sexy" she muttered out loud. "Sexy." She said again paging through hanger upon hanger of v-neck sweaters, hoodies and cotton blouses. She pushed back the dry cleaning bags and bridesmaids gowns. There at her feet at the farthest reaches of the small room was a cardboard box labeled 1998. She looked hard at it because she knew it had what she needed. 1998 a significant year. 1998 when she'd packed away her innocence and her sparkle. 1998 the year Joe had died.

Well, she reasoned, it wasn't like she could go shopping right now and pick up something new. And she was rocking this toned 1990's body. She reached into the box and pulled out the past. It felt a lot like that day standing in Evidence alone with her dead husband's blood soaked shirt pressed to her face. The tears had come back then, today they didn't. She submerged her hands in the bright, shiny fabrics of her past. She pulled out a black heavily sequined halter top. She'd bought it for New Years Eve along with - she dug some more - and held up a pair of black leather pants. They smelled like a mix of hide and vanilla potpourri.

On the top shelf with a little step stool and some intense reaching she found a large graphite box, covered in a thin layer of dust, with silver text across the front. Jimmy Choo. Inside under layers of tissue paper were a pair of slouchy black boots. They were a more recent purchase and her sister had been an accomplice in the 'crime' of their purchase. Oh the sales job she'd done that day. Alex had sat there with a boot on her foot being tag teamed by Liz and the haughty sales lady at Saks.

Looking at the boots now she could still hear Liz's voice "Ally they'll add 4 or 5 inches to your frame" and "tauten those calves" and "give your hips that nice little sway". And like a susceptible social climber she'd blown a _whole_ paycheck on them. Alex wasn't an ostentatious woman. In 9 months she'd never worn them. Just knowing she owned them was pleasurable enough. Besides no outing had ever seemed quite right for such expensive footwear. Well those days were over. On they went over the second skin leather pants and sparkly black halter and she capped it all with a white peplum blazer she'd bought for the christening of her cousin's baby girl.

Back in front of the mirror she decided more make up was in order. She picked up a bottle clearly recalling an ad with a supermodel who claimed it gave your face a flawless glow. In Alex's jaded opinion it _tried_ to help. That's all, it just _tried_.

The doorbell pulled her out of her critical assessment. Alex knew she leaned on Liz. They did this pretty often, caught a coffee or went out for drinks or more recently went out to yoga. Someone looking at her with a cutting eye might say her sister was her best and only friend. Alex was past feeling lame. Lame ended at 40 didn't it? So what if she spent off hours mostly socializing with family. That was the life of a major case detective.

"Oh la la." were Liz's first words and she was positively sparkling. "Spin lady, spin."

Alex rolled her eyes and planted her feet. Elizabeth was fun. Sometimes too fun for her own good.

"You look amazing. I could bounce a quarter off that ass." her grin was enormous. "Say thank you to your baby sis for introducing you to the sculpting effects of bikram."

"Oh get in here." she grabbed her sister's arm. "Hi Lauren, sorry you had to witness that."

"I agree with your totally inappropriate sister. You look awesome Alex." She smiled giving that one armed hug so common among reunited friends.

"We were just going to go to Falstaff's." Alex recognized the name of a local restaurant they'd been to before. "But in honour of my sister becoming a woman." that earned her a slap on the arm. "Ladies I propose something with men and alcohol. I'll take one for the team and sit it out" Said the married younger woman "don't cry for me."

Lauren nodded in complete giddy agreement. She was a tall brunette whom Alex happened to really like. Both of the younger women were so naturally spontaneous and irreverent that they'd pulled her out of a funk on more then one occasion. Liz and Lauren were contemporaries. They'd been inseparable since frosh week at Liz's alma mater Trinity College.

Lauren had become part of the family (another Eames stray, Bobby was in good company) attending countless turkey dinners at the Eames table, embarrassingly boisterous occasions. She'd even dated their brother Will for a year or two there, but to no ends. Lauren's father was a diplomat stationed abroad so her mother had split her time between here and there. All Alex needed to know was that Lauren was great to Liz. Alex loved her sister. Alex had long realized she would do just about anything for this younger sweeter version of herself. A softness rose up in her, maybe it was their age difference, with the boys between them there had never been competition or real conflict, just care.

That night they were a pretty motley crew with Liz a self proclaimed real Connecticut housewife, Lauren a sales rep and Alex a cop, still, the group of women exchanged banter and boisterous laughter in the tight back seat of a cab and then spilled out onto the artificially bright brisk New York street.

"And I love this coat." Liz gushed she pet the furry neck of the belted dress coat.

"You do look beautiful Alex." Lauren seconded again and Alex felt positively hot from their focus and admiration. She wondered at it. And like a devoted realist questioned their authenticity and (even worse) worried about what she usually looked like.

"What is going on with you?" her sister demanded giving her a sly look.

"Mid life crisis." she deadpanned and they all laughed. Alex had to admit she felt good. A bit cold, but really good to be strolling up the sidewalk destined for a night out.

The club was Lauren's choice a bit of a trek into Manhattan but just the right feel, mature but not too mature. Full but not standing room only. On their first cosmo (when in Rome... no beer or bourbon tonight) Alex felt her phone vibrate in her jacket pocket. Not 1PP, not 1PP, not 1PP she chanted fingers crossed, and felt her stomach bottom out. Just as bad, it was Bobby. She hit the ignore button and took another deep gulp. She knew she was playing a dangerous game. The case could have broken or they could have been reassigned or any number of very important work related issues. But she was banking that what he wanted was personal. She vowed she'd pick up only when Hannah's number showed on her display, not a moment sooner. On her second cosmo again the fine ZZZZ ZZZZ of her cell against her side. Bobby. It was surprisingly easy to push back her curiosity and her ridiculous dedication to career and hit ignore.

"Who are you ignoring?" Lauren yelled and the hot sweet liquored breath of the woman played over her ear and cheek.

"My partner. I just want a night off ya know?" That earned her a high five, working man's solidarity.

"That one is looking at you." Liz leaned in on her other side "Take off your jacket give him a little shoulder."

Alex didn't say a word, or roll her eyes or make a face, she put her cell on the table and peeled off the blazer flipping her hair and licked her suddenly dry lips.

"Are you ovulating or something?" Liz asked and that got her the second backhand of the evening. "What have you done with my sister vixen?"

"Liberated her!" Alex yelled, because of the beat of the music and because it felt damn good.

"He's coming over."

Alex felt her head swim. This being feminine, she could get used to it again. She wasn't skilled, not like Lauren. Alex watched the brunette beat them off with a stick, parlaying one drink into another, playfully manipulating affection and loving every second of it. No, she was still Alex, she was still cautious and considered and slow to warm. But after 3 more drinks she felt the dutch courage kicking in. And that was when she met Steve, and danced with Steve, and let Steve pull her close to him, maybe a bit too close, but so what? She was single and he wasn't coming home with her. She felt his hand slide low and she took it firmly and put it on her back but she didn't stop dancing with him.

She went back to the table and he followed like a puppy.

"Bobby has called 2 more times." Liz looked serious ignoring Steve. "Call him." she worried her lower lip.

That was how Alex found herself in the hall outside the ladies room dialing as the dull thump thump thump of music shook the soles of her boots.

"What!?" She yelled indelicately when he picked up and he _gave it to_ her for not answering. A full dressing down. She didn't have much to say, she sort of deserved it.

"I'm off duty."

"You're major case."

"Ugh" the alcohol was making her lips loose " What do you want?" she said each word like it was it's own sentence.

"Where are you?"

"Out."

"I hear music."

"It's a party."

"Where?"

"So you can be a buzzkill?"

"So I can…"

"I'm with my sister and a friend don't worry."

"Where?"

"Let up!" she pled, "I'm having fun." **_For once._**

"We need to talk."

"About the case?"

"Uh.. Yeah."

"There's something new?"

"Yeah." he was lying, like a lying dirty scoundrel but he needed to see her and this was the only way.

"I'll come to you then." she sighed.

"No. You've been drinking just tell me where you are."

She didn't really want to cross her worlds. She was enjoying carefree, younger, sexier, normal Alex it was in high contrast to all the hiding and secrets and dead bodies and psycho killers. "Okay, okay." And she gave up the address with about as much reluctance as an eyewitness in a mob case. When she ended the call she knew that the party was over. She could never run far or fast enough to escape Alex Eames and her damned calling.

The guy, her dance partner was at bar with his friends staring at her, it was very validating. She slapped her phone down on the table, took a long guzzle of whatever was in Liz's glass (missing her sisters surprised look) wiped her chin with the back of her hand and headed to dance floor before her coach turned into a pumpkin in 20 minutes. By her calculation that was the amount of time from her partner's house to their table.

She miscalculated.

He must not have been home.

He was there. She felt him before she saw him. And then he inserted himself, planted himself in her field of view like some monolith surrounded by writhing pagan bodies. He didn't look happy. But what else was new. She felt truly chastised when he extended a hand, she took it and he lead her off the dance floor. Rather then sort it out verbally in the noise and confusion he gestured to the door. But she need to settle up, say goodbye, get her jacket and they had a subtle tug of war. Bobby didn't excel at practicalities.

Her bewildered sister furrowed her brow.

"The case." she said stumbling a little as she leaned in to talk. She might be a bit drunk. "I have to go."

"I thought you were off. You're wrecked."

"Don't worry bout me baby sister." Alex yelled near her ear kissing it. "Love you."

"Bobby." Liz waved him in worried. "She's loaded she can't work."

"It's okay. I'll cover." he told her forgetting to release Alex's hand. "I'll take care of her."

Elizabeth trusted Bobby with her sisters life and that wasn't hyperbole, but as she watched him, hold her hand, then feed her arms into both of her jackets, and then bump into Steve (poor outclassed Steve) just a little, her gaze intensified. And as she watched him lead Alex away by the hand, she knew that everything was different.


	30. Chapter 30

She pulled her hand away at the curb.

"I was having a good time." The moment the night air hit her she knew there were no maybe's about it, she was drunk. Something about leaving the warm, dark, loud deprivation tank of the club highlighted how fuzzy everything really was.

"What are you wearing?" he demanded.

"Do you like what I'm wearing baby?" she asked tilting her head and teetering a little, unconsciously reverting to her days in Vice, she had all the moves.

He was shell shocked. Her behaviour... He'd entered the bar and allowed himself time to watch her. He wished he had sulphuric acid to rinse away the memories. It had been 5 minutes of veiled sexual interplay with men, total strangers. Then she'd made her way back to her table and one had followed all horny and entranced. It was all Bobby could do to contain himself. He knew he'd behaved abruptly in front of the curious ladies, an embarrassing lack of grace but she was making him crazy. And yes the outfit was doing things to him.

"What the… Eames are you in there?"

She laughed a little too much given the situation. "You still want to fuck me?"

And the hits just kept on coming. Her words knocked him back a foot. _**Yes please**_ he almost said. But then she grabbed his hand again trying to pull him toward the covered entry of a jewellery shop and he stopped her cold. _That_ wasn't going to happen. "Get in the car." His voice was low and clipped and angry.

"Make me." She challenged. And a few smokers and loiterers outside the club snickered. For a second he didn't know what to do. Then he realized he a huge reservoir of knowledge to draw from. Crazy was crazy. He moved to her quickly wrapped his arms around her and locked her hands behind her back. His tone was low and soothing. "I'm going to let you go and you're going to get into the car Alex." _or else_ was implied but in her inebriated state she needed him to spell it out.

"Or what?"

"Or I'll help you."

"I thought I told you…" she paused and gave him the cutest little quizzical look and he knew she'd forgotten what she was about to say.

"Let's just get into the car."

"Oh yeah! I thought I told you we were done."

"I could never be done with you." he said with utter honesty knowing she wasn't in any condition to probe.

"Oh." She pulled a little at her human cuffs. "I'm not ready to go home."

"I'll take you wherever you want."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

He slipped an arm around her waist and she melted into him.

* * *

In the car he found her intoxicating. It opened his eyes. It was so odd. This was Eames. Sort of. She looked beautiful. Sexy. She always looked good, but tough. Tonight there was a youthfulness, a guileless open femininity that he never saw in her anymore and he didn't know why. He looked at the fine line of her jaw. This view of her was so familiar. He had spent over a decade considering her profile usually from the passenger seat. Profiling that profile. Now his thoughts were so foreign, so sexual, so consuming. He remembered the way they'd been together. He remembered how she had drawn him inside her. The way she had begged for him. She let out a soft little sigh and her head fell to the side her hair obscuring her face. He took a deep breath. That was Chanel No.5. Classic. They didn't speak at all. After a while he wondered if she'd passed out. He'd promised not to take her home so he drove and drove not sure where the hell to go. And finally ended up in a scenic spot near Battery park.

"You sleeping?" He said killing the engine.

"mmmmmmm."

"I want to talk…." and she suddenly roused and unbuckled herself then turned in the tight space. She reached up and pressed her lips into his. He responded immediately without even giving himself permission. Parting her, tasting the liquor. But before he could hold her she'd pulled away, flung the door open and hopped out.

"Eames!" he went after her feeling a little exhilarated and a good deal of annoyance. "What are you on? Tell me what you took!" he was certain she'd been body swapped or taken some recreational drug.

"Nothing." she laughed again "Drugs? Are you losing it?"

"Then what? What is it!?" he was standing in mulch, at midnight, screaming at this woman - his rock, his tether - who had cut him loose because he was plummeting. She pulled off her jacket then her blazer and stood there her pale bare arms glowing in the moonlight. It was freezing and she was standing there stripped and cold and staring him down.

"I'm tired."

"I'll take you home then."

"I'm tired of being me!" she yelled. He didn't know what to do with that.

"It's this case. We both just..."

"No. Remember I said I'm done." she let her head fall back and gazed into the starless sky. "With that and with talking."

"You're freaking me out." he said.

"What? You think you're the only one allowed to implode?"

"Put your coat back on."

"No."

"It 32 degrees out here."

"Feels great."

"That's the alcohol talking."

"Don't you ever get tired of being so square, Even when we" she formed her fingers into an atom bomb burst and POWed with her mouth, "we make sure that brain matter only lands on us."

He sort of smiled.

"It should be messier."

"I've done messy. I'm content with normal right now."

"I need to live! Maybe I'll have to do it on my own." she shot back, his heart started racing.

"You need sleep." _**And to stop with this nonsense.**_ Irrational fear gripped him, he saw her handing in her resignation, putting her house on the market, buying a one way plane ticket…

"Yeah that too." She leaned against the railing that ran along the river.

"Okay what do you want?" _**I'll give you anything.**_ "I'll give you anything." he hadn't meant to say it out loud but he did.

She turned abruptly and stepped up onto the lowest rung "To jump into the river and swim to the other side." He was immediately behind her lifting her down, he wasn't going to risk that little bit of impulse he unbuttoned his coat and drew her inside a little. He couldn't look at her exposed body anymore.

"That's nice." she murmured feeling the wool still warm from his trapped musty heat, she brought the lapel to her nose. Bobby. He was the best smell in the universe. He tucked her in tight straight jacketing her arms.

"Little lunatic." he said quietly.

She laughed and laughed and laughed. Yep still drunk.

She stood remarkably still against him and he felt the curve of her, of course he felt the hard and the angles too. He put the cold tip of his nose against the crown of her head feeling the tickle of her hair on his chin and cheeks. They had a still quiet moment. Then the time for stillness passed and she wriggled free. She took his hand and slid it up under the loose hem of her top resting it on her left breast. "Squeeze." She directed and he did and she moaned. She took his other hand and slid it down her abdomen past button and fly to cup her through her pants.

"W-What are you doing?"

"Figure it out." she covered his lower hand and applied pressure moving her hips in those pants. Clingy, ass hugging, second skin pants.

"I think I've got it." he muttered kissing her neck. "Let's get in the car."

"No right here. Maybe someone will see." she said it like it was a good thing. And it was a lot to ask of him because he was edgy and worried and cold. He wasn't sure of their safety (A New York park in the middle of the night?) he kept craning round ever vigilant. He was sure the alcohol had impaired her ability to consent. And they just needed one cop to stumble in for epic humiliation and a public indecency charge. But exercising good judgement was impossible. It was his voice saying "You look so hot tonight. You are so beautiful. You amaze me. You feel… " Words of seduction and awkward awe in her ear.

"More." she whispered "More." And before he knew it she was unbuttoning her pants and slipping his hand inside turning her head to kiss him. Against his lips she said, "An orgasm. Give me an orgasm. Get your fingers in me." And it did something primal to him to hear her stripped down words, feeling her surrender to his touch.

"Open for me." he urged, and she did spreading her legs more. His cold curious finger encountered her soft strip of curls before dipping between her lips. It was like sticking his fingers into a sauna, her moist heat in such contrast. He felt her buck a little.

"Too cold?" he breathed gripping the frigid railing for support.

"No perfect."

His fingers strummed gently. Magic fingers.

"Oh Bobby." Her voice went all soft and gooey around the edges.

"You're so wet." he rumbled. "I've dreamed about you. And about this." One intrepid finger working up inside her the other playing her engorged nub like a Steinway.

She writhed, at once trying to get away and trying to get more. There was a tinny clang as she raised her leg and her boot hit and stuck to the rail. She pushed back for erotic leverage, his body her immovable object. She need that tension to get over the imaginary climactic wall. All the while her booze soaked tongue leaked sexual secrets, telling him how good he was making her feel, how much she wanted him. Until she let go and felt and felt and felt and came in the most blinding convulsive way. She let out a guttural yell as she twitched and clenched through it.

Still cupping her, she heard him say a single word and it felt like sandpaper on her soul. "Mine." She wouldn't deny it. She was. His. She was acting like a woman she didn't know and it was liberating. A sexual woman. A risky woman. A woman unable to deny her lover anything. She slumped into him.

"Bobby. I'm cold." she said at last when her breathing had regulated. And so was he. And he had a wet sticky secret in his pants, like some boy. **_Welcome to puberty._** This woman was making him adolescent. He turned her into his embrace. His heavy ropey arms enveloping her small waist.

"But I don't forgive you. Just so you know." she said shaking uncontrollably, pushing into his body, embracing him back.

"Good. Don't. I'm a bad man." he was joking and yet not.

"No you're n…." she paused. Then laughed a throaty sultry sound. "I almost defended you against yourself. I think I was born to defend you."

"Back in the car." he commanded because in vino veritas, it wasn't fair.

Before they'd even moved or unclenched words came pouring out of her. Maybe it was reaching that sexual peak or the drinking or just her foolish heart, "It's stupid for me to be angry because you loved that..." she stumbled "that… her more then me. We're allowed to have pasts." She yawned. "Even if she was a disgusting killer." she angled her face up, "Because you need love, don't you?" She took his face in both hands, "You just need to be loved."

Her impaired insights touched him. They gummed up in his chest. He felt like crying for the first time in 4 years.

He bowed his head and kissed her mouth slow and deep and long.

She was right, he'd been looking everywhere but here.


	31. Chapter 31

She was prone between two angry marshmallows. Someone was swinging a hammer at the back of her head and it had a tempo that sounded remarkably like the baseline of Queen's Under Pressure. She moaned and rolled up one eyelid. The room an eager optometrist shining a light into her retna, she closed it quickly. She moved slowly surprised that any part of her listened. She dragged all four limbs, their roiling torso and their awful bobblehead quickly to the porcelain God and worshiped at it's alter. Her body wracked and heaved and prayed for death.

How long had she sat on the cold white ceramic squares of her bathroom floor? 10 minutes? 2 hours? She only knew she couldn't move. She felt every second of the 45 years that had passed before this day. She was sure that once upon a time this had been easier. She couldn't remember having been knocked on her ass, literally, ever. She couldn't do this anymore, behave like a lush and expect to function afterward. She opened her eyes (they'd sealed tight again, their own countermeasures) and took in her outfit. Lace bra, leather pants, one sock. Had she done this or had Bobby?

Bobby.

Oh no.

Bobby.

The memories were an unwelcome companion here on the floor.

The one where she begged him for sexual gratification slammed her back against the vanity doors. Then the one where she admitted her jealousy (of a killer no less) stole her breath. She staggered to her feet. Stumbling into the door frame gripping the wooden lip with her nails. The thought of facing him… She went back to the medicine cabinet looking for a bottle of relief. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. She had to go in. They were on a case.

* * *

Alex wore sunglasses, she held a Venti Black Eye and a litre of Evian like battle gear, but eased into the squad room like a covert operative. It was 10am she was late. Beyond late. But she'd looked misery in the eye this morning and it was making her fearless. She wondered briefly before heading to her car if she might still be drunk but a quick little algorithm (body weight, amount consumed, time elapsed) and she made the executive decision that she could be trusted with a gun.

Goren smirked. "I don't think those are regulation indoor eyewear." he held imaginary shades.

"Screw you." She sat in stages, immobilizing her head and neck to minimize the reverb when butt hit chair. She was feeling a bit better and anticipated full recovery in less then an hour when the tylenol really took effect. But in the meanwhile **_sit still as a statue_**.

"What are you up to?" she asked him their dual life starting to weigh heavy. This environment felt so sanitized,_ insipid_ compared to their session in the park. Their alter egos were having a gay old time at the expense of Goren and Eames. "Any word on Sikes?"

"Not yet, but they have us on speed dial. They know we want this guy."

"Sorry I'm late."

"No problem. Hannah has been out all morning and I'm just pushing paper."

"About last night…" She whispered, she could get used to this, talking to him surrounded by a room full of nosey narcs, through the barrier of tinted lenses. Safe. Safe as houses.

"Oh we're going to talk. Just not here or now." He said glancing up at her briefly. She didn't like the sound of that.

"Uhm." she wasn't exactly at her sharpest.

"Yes. So much to talk about." He shuffled his stack of papers. And she felt that he was enjoying this, making her feel all squirrelly.

And just then in a stunning coup de grace, her cell phone rang "Eames." her voice was clipped.

"Who is…" sick realization dawned and she swiveled her chair away from Bobby like a dime store top.

"Uh hi. Yeah, yeah I remember you. Uh huh." her voice as low as a voice could go. There was a chance Bobby couldn't hear right?

"I'm working right now. Oh are you? Lucky." she tried to be nice as he (a man from last night, a dance partner) told her about the conference he was enroute to. "So can I call you back? Uh huh, uh huh…" she was trying to couch her words, because he really liked her, she was so sexy, he needed to see her again. For a gal like her it was an impressive outpouring. She let the uncomplicated, explosion of affection wash over her. It actually lessened her headache, knowing she had sparked something so intense in a total stranger. Even if she could barely remember him. Even if she was wondering how the hell he'd gotten her most sacred number.

"Definitely we'll do that." she would commit to anything to get away now.

She turned back head down shades still in place and took her computer out of dormant. Her face was burning up, as her partner shot electric volts from his prying eyes.

"Who was that?" Bobby asked casually with edge.

"Let's just get to work. My night out is ruining the whole day." she tried to be funny but sensed she wasn't.

She heard him snort. "Lunch 12:30." he said and it wasn't an invitation.

She nodded.

* * *

The case.

What was that?

They had a suspect in custody which might naturally be why she was easing off a little. But last night - partying, drinking - she would have never done that during a case two years ago or even 6 months ago. And no one knew better then Eames that complacency during an investigation was the hobgoblin of the trial process. When life and death were on the table, no defence was off the table. She and Goren had been on the the stand and on the offence so many times combating the old tropes - investigators with agendas, investigators with tunnel vision. Thank God Bobby was still on track. Because she was spinning out of control.

He knew the best preemptive strike was to go down the dead ends and continue the elimination process. And so that's what they were doing. Ruling out and alibiing the almost 50 contributors from the drain of the bathroom where their victim's DNA had been found. Alex was learning all sorts of things about men, like a semen plug was an actual thing (a thing they'd extracted) and that a lot of joyful times were had in that crime scene bathtub.

In the bullpen their eyes met meaningfully over a field of case files, coffee cups and computers.

"Paperwork." he sighed.

"I know. If a tree falls in the forest I bet nobody hears, but if an executive jacks off at a crime scene..."

He smiled and looked down at his desk completely tickled.

"How many you got there?" he asked in a low voice, wanting to know how far she was into her 25 name portion of the list.

"Only two firm alibis. And one of those deceased. 8 voicemails."

"Yeah I'm not much better."

"So just 30 more to go. Not counting call backs, runarounds and disconnected numbers." she groaned and rested her forehead on her folded arms atop the desk.

"Hang in there." he offered an empty platitude.

"Yeah, thanks, you're a regular cheerleader you know that." She grabbed her big coffee like a life preserver and shook the empty paper cup with annoyance. "Need coffee." she said standing and finally peeling off her shades. She blinked rapidly the light was shocking but painless.

Goren was smirking again.

"Screw off." she repeated over her shoulder heading toward the break room.

He stared at her ass until she rounded the corner, then remembered how dangerous that was. But he was feeling indignant today. And he didn't like having his natural impulses handcuffed by 1PP. He should be able to ogle his woman's backside if he wanted. Some vicious emotion coursed through him. Anger? Arousal? Fatigue? Need? All of the above? It was so uncomfortable. Bobby knew he was awful when it came to suppressing emotion. If he didn't move _right now_ his head would explode. He stood abruptly sending his chair rolling like a missile into the pillar not far behind it. Several cops looked up, saw it was him and then down again. He knew he should stay put, sit down, he took several steps toward her, then clenched his fists and headed for the water cooler instead.

* * *

"The Diner?" She asked casually as they got into the SUV. But she didn't feel casual. Her unease was tangible.

"Sure."

They lunched at a local joint. A 50's era building with shiny aluminum trim and the word "Diner" in black and gold classic old timey 'hamburger menu' font. Inside the waitstaff were as unpretentious as fast food, and the prices were same. Add to that a row of sassy line cooks churning out real freshly prepared meals and on a cops budget it was nirvana. They often came to The Diner for the all day breakfasts or the hearty sandwiches or slices of pie or the bottomless cups of coffee. This time Alex ordered a house salad still not sure about her stomach and Bobby a chicken club.

"Let's not talk. Let's just eat." she didn't mean to beg but she sort of did.

"No. Way."

She sighed, "Okay, okay last night was crazy. I know I shouldn't drink. I may have been a little… unmanageable."

"Oh you were more then unmanageable. You were, erratic, erotic, a little bit slutty."

She let out an indignant huff.

"I mean I liked it, loved it in fact. When you took my hand…"

"STOP!" she rushed out. "My sister wanted me to dress up, let loose. She worries about me. I might have taken it a bit too literally."

He squinted a little and tilted his head "You know, you've got two women in that body. The one that has the badge and one that's dying to get away from it. You should acknowledge the second one more."

Alex nodded briefly. She wasn't comfortable talking about her coping mechanisms, who she'd become in order to succeed - frumpy, surly and macho. Hearing him say it, knowing she was so exposed, was almost more then she could bear. But he wasn't about to back off, this was his area of expertise, human behaviour. And she was just too fascinating a subject. Bobby had been there last night with a front row seat, totally riveted, as her personality cleaved into two.

"Did you come upstairs?"

"Yes."

"Did we?" She remembered everything else why didn't she remember that?

He shook his head. "You fell asleep in the car. I carried you up."

She gripped her forehead and looked away. So embarrassing.

"It was nothing, really." It had felt oddly wonderful having her so fully in his arms in all her limp imperfection, light snoring, loose lower lip. She would never know he'd dipped down and kissed her in that moment, tasted that lip, drawn it into his mouth, then pressed warmly to her forehead and her cheek before tucking her into bed and going home.

"You didn't drive in from Brooklyn." she referred to the way he'd seemed to magically appear on the dance floor last night. Teleportation? "Where were you?" It was so exciting to pry, to insert herself into the details of his private life exactly the way she'd wanted to for so long.

"Grabbing a beer."

"Alone?"

"Always alone, these days." he looked at her pointedly, accusingly.

"I didn't aim to meet anyone."

"Really?

"I dressed to feel good. I went out to cut loose, have a break, nothing more." **_I was about to lose my mind at home, alone, obsessing over you._** She left that part unsaid.

"You got a lot of attention." he said. "I didn't like it."

"Well." She chewed slowly and swallowed. "I don't know what we are to each other."

"It's time to change that. We're done with that." He said it so decisively. He was all in. He was ready to take this clandestine thing and bring it into the light.

"So forceful." She teased.

"You like that." He stated. He'd profiled her long ago. She was a strong woman. She was the senior partner. She was single so she made all the rules in her private life. In terms of birth order she was the oldest child, so a preordained leader. And as a successful woman in a male dominated field a definite alpha. But something was wearing on her, he could see that. He supposed the weight of responsibility, the toll of suppressing her femininity, the loneliness from taking the road less travelled. He'd been absent in this relationship. He'd left her hanging time and time again. He knew what she desperately needed, even if she didn't. Conviction. A decisive show of strength.

She shrugged in response. Looking at her watch. "We need to get back, I was 3 hrs late."

He met her eyes and with quiet strength said. "You may take the lead at work, but you aren't in charge of us."

That got her attention."I'm not trying…"

"Of course you are. But it stops now," He said with thrust. "I want you. I want a relationship with you. A real one."

Her stomach flipped and it was easy to ignore that a short 24 hours ago she'd taken her (now defunct) stand in a closet surrounded by mops, jugs of disinfectant and Brillo pads. She'd told him they should move on. But he was right, they weren't done. They would never be done.

"Really?"

"Really." he said with leaden certainty.

Alex was enjoying their new uninhibited sex life. But she wasn't sure why they were compelled to be so public, to scrabble and grab for each other constantly, to let desire trump conversation or quiet cuddling, over and over and over. A psychiatrist might say they'd prioritized touch over talk out a fear. A psychiatrist might see with laser focus how at risk they both felt, vulnerable at the prospect of showing one another how they _really_ lived. A psychiatrist might observe that they were struggling with change. Maybe his shrink had told him all those things. Maybe Gyson had offered him some clarity on the issue of Alexandra Eames. Well Alex didn't care how he'd arrived here. She would take Robert Goren any way he came.

"I thought we were getting off on the whole risquee thing." She whispered.

"We are." he took a big bite of his sandwich and she felt like he was sinking his teeth into her. "Now I want us to get off in a normal healthy relationship."

"Okay." she said shyly. She _was_ suddenly feeling shy.

"Okay?"

"Okay." she said again firmly.

She sat back trying to think about what it would mean in a practical sense. "Like sex in a bed? Or date night? Or dinners with family? Because that would mean telling people. Seems a bit dangerous."

"We'll work it out." He popped the last bite into his mouth then wiped with a white paper napkin. "Invite me over tonight and we'll start being really ordinary together." they both smiled.

Galloping forward.

It was twelve years in the making and and she still couldn't catch her breath.


	32. Chapter 32

She leaned over him at his desk pretending to look at his monitor, just a cheap excuse to get nice and close and whisper in his ear. "Raincheck on tonight. They think they have Sikes, might take some doing but the 4-5 is closing in. We should meet them there." he glanced at the squad room clock, it was 6:57pm now. This could take a long time.

"Unbelievable." he said.

"Believe it. Took a couple of days but it looks like Mayford nailed him."

"Well let's go." The adrenaline kicked in, the buzz of closing in on their prey who incidentally was found right where expected about 2 miles from the body dump site. Not exactly a one way flight to a non-extradition country. Alex privately rolled her eyes, _**the simpleminded lowlife**_.

They sped over which was nice, no sirens like the bad old days, but still it was a rush considering they were usually the last responders, the ones that got called into the scenes that had been catalogued, processed and assessed for major case suitability. They arrived just as the unis were dragging a bedraggled mess of a man out of a derelict building. Greasy dirty hair, filthy ripped jeans. He had a long face with red rimmed eyes and a deep scar across his cheek.

"That isn't him." Bobby said gesturing.

"Who the hell called us for this?" Alex demanded gesturing at the sad sap, pulling rank a little as they stuffed him into a cruiser. "That isn't Sikes." She'd committed Garrett Sikes to memory, square face, cleft chin, obsidian eyes he was also scar-free and shorter.

"Nope. Known associate. Your guy was seen coming out of here yesterday by an informant. We were pretty sure we had him." a detective said, detective Filbert they found out, from the 4-5 "They have quite a workshop in there, worth a look."

"If Sikes isn't here..." Bobby was only thinking about salvaging his night with Alex. His head was so far from the game that he probably shouldn't have been there. The building didn't look like much a falling down two storey walk up, boarded windows, smashed glass in the entry, intercom hanging by a couple of wires, weeds coming up through cracks in the pavement. But when they got inside. Wow.

"What the hell is this?" The entire first floor of the Bronx crack house was gutted, gleaming and covered with bike parts. Bikes, everywhere. Shiney red, yellow, blue, some handleless, wheelless, seatless to Alex they looked like dismembered victims begging for help, an uncomfortable correlation to their case. She walked around the room. Hard wearing white melamine floors commercial grade. Bright halogens in the ceilings, so bright it was like daylight. White walls a material that made them look almost laminated. And tables. Rows of tables covered with glinting tools, workman's gloves, magnifying devices. It was a chop shop, but more like a lab, a high end lab littered with bikes. As rings went this would be classified as the motherload.

"What the..." both detectives were a bit flummoxed. And looked at each other almost like this had to be some sort of joke.

"This is a bike ring thing?" Eames asked rather inelegantly.

Bobby shook his head not sure what to think. There was the city-bike, pleasure riding, aspect of the Walston case. But this was a whole other animal. "This is thousands of dollars in equipment and building upgrades." Wonder seeping into the words. He swivelled to look at the detective. "Has this place been on your radar?"

"That's what we're checking. Hard to imagine no one reporting any suspicious activity."

"This has got to be a weird sideline." Eames jumped in looking at Goren.

"Or you know maybe Sikes isn't involved in this thing at all." he gestured. Then leaned low to look at a really convoluted silver hook shaped tool. He picked it up.

"Whatcha got there?" she leaned close and he felt momentarily distracted by the scent she was wearing.

"This," he held it up "is an Allen key."

"Doesn't look like one."

"It's proprietary. Specifically designed by a company to open a custom cast bolt, but not available to the public. It's as good as having a high end padlock inside your - industrial machinery usually." he turned "Can you bag this." He handed it to a officer. "And pictures. Lots. Every angle." His face said he was onto something. "Let's look around." he was fascinated now.

"Sure." Alex lifted a brow, she knew that sparkle in his eye. Call off their romp, they were going to be here a good long while.

The first floor of the house was one large room with pillars marking where walls had come down but upstairs was another story. It was exactly what you would have expect of a house of this age and exterior condition. It was old and dusty and all the rooms were intact. Each room was pokey, dark and fed immediately into another. So far Alex had counted 2 non-functioning kitchenettes which made her quite certain it had once been a dorm or halfway house.

She and Bobby split up each privately wondering if they might find a secondary crime scene or some evidence of Jane Walston, though it seemed unlikely. 15 minutes later she was about to call for Bobby because she'd had enough dirt and dust and rusted out appliances to last a lifetime when it happened.

**_Oh Shit!_**

A closet door flew open and hit her with amazing force side on. As she felt herself falling, she knew this was the worst possible scenario. Her heart was in her throat, terror rising like bile. The man that had been hiding turned and gave her a wild eyed look. A tweaker look. She grabbed for her gun drawing it but before she could aim he charged at her knocking her back. Once she was down he wound back and kicked her in the abdomen. She managed to hold on to her weapon with a life and death grip as the air left her in a gush. She couldn't regulate, couldn't get her breath going again. He hit her again and her face exploded in pain and stars. She saw her own blood mixed with spit bubble and trail to the ground.

When his foot flew at her again she grabbed it because her life depended on it. She struggled and twisted it bringing the 6 foot man down with a thud. He lay on his back. She fought for her life like an animal. She brought the metal butt of the gun in her hand down as hard as she could on his thigh then his crotch.

"Bitch." the enraged epithet flew at her as he grabbed his package. "Satan's bitch!"

"Eames!" That familiar voice. Her eyes prickled with relief. On a surge of adrenaline Bobby grabbed the attacker like a rag doll - with two giant fistfuls of jacket and shirt - hurled him against a wall. Bits of old plaster cracked and crumbled down around his prone body.

"Bus!" he bellowed in the next breath. "We need a bus here!" she could hear the panic in his voice as he immediately flipped the perp and slapped on a pair of cuffs. Leaving him lying there on his side like a piece of garbage. As officers flooded the room guns drawn.

"I'm okay" she meant to reassure him but started hacking and spitting out more metallic tasting blood. He came to her side.

"Sikes..." she croaked.

"Don't move." he commanded. She looked so pained and small. It took everything not to comfort her in the way he wanted, so instead he channeled his rage.

"Who in the hell cleared this room!" he shouted, ready to start something with the uniforms that stood taking in the scene. He then turned and dressed down the detective. "What a stupid rookie mistake!"

Alex dragged herself into sitting position. He saw the movement out of the corner of his eye.

"I said stay still." he turned on her again. Alex could feel her face swelling, she ran a hand over her midsection. Nothing was broken she was certain of it.

"I'm fine Bobby some Tylenol and a cold compress will do it." she winced. But he went to her and sat right in the grime and filth beside her, hoping to keep her still.

"DON'T move." he barked, don't in a feral guttural way like he was losing grip. Then tried desperately to calm down. Outside herself she noticed his breathing ragged and harsh, his hands shaking as he touched her. And so she didn't, move that was. He was terrified. He really was. He was doing all the right things but in the midst of a screaming panic.

She lay her hair down in the dirt and waited.


	33. Chapter 33

It was some time - a few hours - before she was in the ER, through triage, diagnosed and monitored. By then she had a waiting room full of concerned friends and family. And Bobby, well he was almost catatonic in a corner chair away from the hub. He kept replaying it. He kept wondering what the hell had happened, how it had happened, why it had happened. Big questions for a split second event. A dark and unforeseen moment in time. Unforeseen. For them at least, Alex and himself. Those mooks in the 4-5 had some answering to do.

He just wanted her to be okay.

He couldn't look her family in eye. He was afraid of the censure and blame he might see there. They'd all been here before. The feeling was eerie in it's similarity. He'd felt just as guilty and ineffective on that day. They liked him, her family. The problem was that he didn't like himself. Not with her in there, and him walking, talking, _breathing_ out here. Again.**_ Bulletproof Bobby_** he mocked his own professional good fortune.

His hands were shaking. He looked down at them splayed and vibrating. And it wasn't just his hands it was going up his arms too working into his chest. He willed them to stop but they didn't listen. He looked over at Mr. Eames. He'd aged so much in just the 8 months since Bobby had last seen him, older and more curved and bracing for the worst. Her brothers and at least 1 of their wives circled his chair anxiously offering to get him food, water, tea but he kept waving them off with a grim set of his lips. They looked older too, Bobby thought, William and John Jr - Will and Jack. Touches of grey at the temples the weight of middle age settling, well, in the middle.

It was almost Thanksgiving now. Bobby would have seen them all at Thanksgiving. Why the hell couldn't this be Liz's living room at Thanksgiving? He closed his eyes and clicked his heels a little but he wasn't Dorothy and he was still in this stripped wool chair with the pilling fabric and the medium toned wooden arms, beside a pile of well handled magazines with curled corners and a tuperware container of crayon pieces.

Hannah was here too, a hand on his hip wedged against a wall like he was holding it up.

And then a bit of commotion. As the doctor came and everyone walked toward him zombie like. He carved out a handful of the most important people to discuss the findings. Her father and her brothers who beckoned Captain Hannah and Bobby to their side and they all filed into the hallway.

"Can I speak frankly." The doctor looked at Mr. Eames. He was used to addressing immediate family usually not including an extended cop family. "She should be fine." There was an audible sigh of relief and a little nervous laughter at that, and everyone seemed to deflate just a bit. "Moderate concussion, bruised ribs, abdominal bruising, cuts and abrasions." They all nodded in unison. "The other concern is..." he paused for clarity "She authorised this disclosure. She's pregnant." He eyed everyone "Very early stages. Can't be more then a couple of weeks along." he paused hawk eyed quite certain he was giving them information they didn't know, information the woman on the bed behind the curtain hadn't realised herself until a few moments ago. He pushed on though, only here to pilot the bomber not help with the fallout. "The uterus is nestled inside the pelvis. It provides an extraordinary cushion against the outside world. But of course something as traumatic as this combined with other factors, advanced maternal age, head injury, well it all bears watching. Bleeding, unusual discharge. We'll hold her for the night, or we can send her home in someone's care. And that means supervision over the next 24hrs." Then the doctor was a puff of white coat.

Hannah spun on Bobby immediately "Did you know about this?"

"N.. no." he stammered. Authenticity was _not_ going to be a problem. His knees just about gave way. His heart pounded, he felt faint. But he was still mildly aware that he needed to maintain a facade of shocked detachment but inside his head: **_Eames. A baby. Eames. Pregnant. Eames is pregnant. A baby. Eames. A baby and Eames. Eames. Pregnant._** It went on and on and on like a system malfunction.

"_She_ probably didn't know about this." Her brother Will pipped up. Her brother Jack was working his lips between a thumb and index finger, a nervous tick. Bobby was impressed as always by their obvious care.

"Who in the hell..." John Eames looked like he wanted to roar or do damage. Bobby could finish that sentence **_knocked up my little girl_**. But then her father fell silent and the paralysis was catching as one by one each man sat or leaned against something.

"Liz, she would know who..." They let it hang. Bobby's eyes darted around the room panicked before remembering, on a wave of relief, that Liz wasn't here.

"She's lucky you were right behind her Bobby. She'd be dead." her brother Jack murmured.

And Bobby wanted to say Eames is tough, Eames can take care of herself. But he'd been there and he'd seen it. _He couldn't stop seeing it._ She had a been giving it her best but she was down, he was bigger, and she couldn't get her finger onto the trigger of the gun. What if he had gotten on top of her? Or wrestled the gun away? Or... His hand flew to the side his head. Hard. A physical reaction to the thoughts that he couldn't stop. Pound it out, knock it out. He whirled away from the men.

"Yeah. You don't jump out at a cop fists flying unless you're prepared to go down. Nothing to lose. That's nothing to lose behaviour." John Eames concluded closing his eyes briefly. "And it wasn't luck Bobby" he suddenly grabbed the younger man by the shoulder and stepped in close, very close. The old man gave him a meaningful look, "The link. You two have the link." It was all a bit intense. "It's up here." he touched Bobby's head and patted a few times. Then grinned.

Bobby for his part smiled weakly a little embarrassed, but was also a little compelled by the old man's folklorish certainty.

* * *

Alex opened her eyes and Bobby was there.

"You look like hell." she said.

"So do you." he smiled taking a bedside seat.

"You saved my life."

"You might have..." she stilled him with a hand.

"I was struggling." she looked deep into his eyes. "He got me." she paused. "You were there right when I needed you, right when..."

"I had a feeling." He couldn't remember hearing her fall or call out, he remembered a feeling.

"Your instincts," she paused easing into the pillow "never fail." she extended a hand and he leaned into it with his cheek. He closed his eyes layering his hand over hers feeling the warm pulse of her life force did something to him, inside him. Something scary and intense. He felt relief that she was here drawing breath with him, relieved and grateful in every cell of his worried wasted body.

"Thanks." he murmured

"Bobby?" she gazed at him. "Take me home?"

"Wouldn't you rather...

"No I wouldn't."

"Your father, your brothers..."

"No. I want to go... With you. Please." she pled a little. "Hospitals." she said. The word was stand alone but he got it. Too much pain, too much strife, too many memories inside these walls. She'd seen more then her share of hospital rooms. And he couldn't deny her anything.

"Okay. I'll take you home."


	34. Chapter 34

Her family seemed grateful to have him look after her, although a formidable line up of people made him promise not to leave her. As if he would. She was sporting an enormous bruise across her abdomen and stomach that got even even more angry, black and large from moment to moment. Her face was swollen, she had a bloody lip, a black eye and a sizable goose egg was coming up near her forehead. She was demolished.

The shift between them was immediate. A new softness sprung up like a geyser, earthy and spontaneous a true force of nature. He helped her into the car. He snapped her seatbelt in place. He drove. He extended an arm across her body and tucked his hand around her thighs. And Alex just sat there anchored to the seat by both her seatbelts human and nylon she didn't have any comments in her arsenal. She felt something in his grip. Desperation? And in herself a soul deep vulnerability. She wrapped her hands around his bicep and lay her head on his shoulder.

"You don't have to stay with me." she said, but she didn't mean it and he didn't even entertain it.

"Captain's orders." And those words put them both at ease with their new powerful emotions. She was quiet for so long that he thought she'd fallen asleep and that filled him with irrational fear. She was allowed to sleep, in fact it was preferable, but he wanted her here and awake and being Eames. They'd come so close to the worst and the pain of thinking it was etched on his brow. She tightened her hold on him and brought him back. She spoke in code.

"So... You know?"

"Yes. Did you?"

"No. I was drinking." her eyes filled because it was just all too much. A tear carved it's way down her brutalized face.

"I- I'm sure it's okay." But it was one shock victim comforting a fellow shock victim.

The silence was long and thick until he couldn't hold it back any longer. "You let the doctor tell everyone." Unspoken was **_Me. You let him tell me that way._**

"I figured one and done." Somewhere in her foggy head she was sure that was cruel but just didn't have it in her to say sorry, going from family member to family member explaining that she was going to be the world's oldest mother? No thanks. Hurt as he was he had to give her kudos for that bit of logic. Almost everyone important had been in that room the grapevine would do the rest and they wouldn't press her for details in her fragile broken state. But it still stung.

"I deserved to know first."

"You're right, you did. I'm not thinking clearly." she honestly wasn't sure if that was the truth or an excuse. She just felt so tired. "Don't be mad at me right now."

* * *

Settling her in at home included a (completely unnecessary) sweep of the apartment. She sat on the couch like a statue following him with just her eyes, as he moved around her small place opening and closing doors. She forgave him the paranoia, if she weren't a sad pulverized mass she would have been just as full of anxiety and adrenaline.

"I'm fine. I'm home now." she said when his movements slowed, her tone was final. She felt safe here, in her smallish condo with it's alarm system and it's doorman and three stories between her and people with bad intentions.

"You don't look fine" Her hand flew to her face of course she must look like the elephant man, taking a boot to the mug didn't leave you runway ready. He moved to the freezer and pulled out a bag of frozen corn and peas, a little more banging and thumping and he'd found the drawer with the freezer bags. He wrapped it up and handed it to her. "Where are your meds?" he asked. She looked around for the white pharmacy bag.

"Uh... I don't know."

"Let me check the car." He came back with the prescription painkillers and soon after a glass of water.

"Such service." she tried to look unphased by it all.

"You're being tough, he could have killed you."

"He didn't." She paused "It's the job."

"It's a _risk_ of the job. Getting killed is not the job." He sat down beside her. "Especially when it's caused by such a stupid mistake." He shook his head like he couldn't imagine.

Her voice was small and pained. "You should watch yourself. I heard you screaming at that detective."

"He's lucky that's all I did." She didn't see him as a fistacuffs kind of guy, but looking into his eyes she believed him. He shrugged. "Trouble is my middle name." he muttered the cliche without missing a beat then added "I'm going to stay with you. Or can I call someone? Your sister?"

She shook her head and relaxed farther into the couch drowsy. "She's away with her husband this week. First time they've vacationed just the two of them since my nephew..." She trailed off "What did they put in that painkiller a little rohypnol?" She widened and flexed her eyes struggling to stay lucid.

"It's the concussion." He said and watched as her chin hit her chest asleep. Just like that. Then her head bounced up she looked alarmed.

"I... I" she said blinking her voice tinged with panic, "I can't stop myself."

"Okay then." He made a decision (and for the second time in so many days) he slipped an arm behind her back and under her knees. She weighed nothing. Nothing at all. It was the first time he thought about just how much power her character and guts held. Quiet and hurt like this in his arms she just a 110lbs, weak and vulnerable. He tightened his grip.

"Whoa." she blinked up at him "What..."

"Relax. Just getting you more comfortable."

She stiffened at the odd sensation of being cared for, her head tucked under his chin, one breast mashed into his chest. **_God this feels good._** And too soon over. He set her down on the bed.

"You can go now." She felt compelled to give him another out. "I won't tell."

He looked down at her. Her arms curled round her middle. Her form frail and bent.

"Eames, I told you I'm not going." he was starting to see why everyone had made him promise not to leave.

She met his eyes and nodded slowly accepting this. For his part Bobby was worried of course, her bruises which were darkening and angry, but he was also mildly intrigued by this feminine, weakened version of his take no crap partner. He didn't want to freak her out or take advantage but he _so_ wanted to comfort her and to comfort himself. It felt odd to be so conflicted. They had been so intimate. She was having his... But they had never like this. Never just for care and gentle affection. Deep in thought he paced a little at the foot of her bed which played out more like a few crude pirouettes in the small space. Should he? Shouldn't he? She watched him slightly amused. She gave him her 'what are you doing' look. This behaviour was odd, even for Bobby.

"Eames?"

"Yes?"

Then he was kneeling beside the bed, the mattress dipped and her body swayed toward him. And his mouth was on hers, not wild but soft. Feather light, a whisper on her lips.

"Wha... What are you..." the end of the sentence floated away. She felt his hands on either side of her face like a caress. She had no idea he could be so gentle. He always moved with such heaviness, he grabbed, pulled, pointed and hauled. But this touch was like cashmere. Shock turned to pleasure. Pleasure to goose bumps.

"Am I hurting you?" he asked his lips barely grazing hers.

"No" _**Definitely no pain.**_

She closed her eyes as he kissed the bruise that was coming up on her brow bone, then bump just under her hairline, then her swollen cheek, then the bridge of her nose and then tenderly back to her mouth. She felt cherished. Loved. She pushed that last thought away.

"Go to sleep." he urged, his face still conspiratorially close.

"Are you staying?" she asked the whole thing had the watery quality of a dream.

"Yes." he repeated for the umpteenth time in so many minutes.

"Stay with me here?" There was a hint of question and some uncertainty. He loved that uncertainty. She eased back the covers inviting him and said something so head spinning, so innocent. "Bobby, I'm scared." Alex felt every ounce the victim again. Her heart racing and not just from his kisses. She flashed back to being terrorized, it was years ago now, but she could still feel the bindings. And she was suddenly positive that with her concussion she wouldn't wake up in the morning. She wanted to die in his arms. Bobby had no idea about the irrational turn of her thoughts, just that there was nowhere he would rather be.

"Of course." He hunkered down a moment and ran one large hand through her hair where her head lay on the pillow. She was scared. Strong fierce Eames. He looked at her closely. It broke his heart. She watched through drowsy hooded eyes as he took off his jacket, then his already loosened tie, his badge and gun clunked hard on the bedside table. His long masculine fingers threading each button through each eyelet of his pinstriped shirt. He pulled off his white undershirt in that way men do, rough, one handed. His belt jangled musically as he loosened it. His pants and socks gone in one smooth motion. Then all of it went over the narrow back of the chair at her makeup table. And it was just Bobby in boxer briefs, coming to her and doing the same for her. Until it was just Alex - small, bruised and brutalized Alex - in her bra and panties. She tucked into him like they'd been doing this forever.

"Are you sore?" he asked in the darkening room.

"I'm feelin' no pain." she quipped and she wasn't. A cocktail of Bobby and painkillers was all she needed. She ran her fingers up and down him drunk with the liberties she could take, over the skin she'd never felt. Up the inside of his forearm and over his bicep, tripping over his nipples, down his stomach until she felt him hold his breath. All the while she ran her foot up and down the length of his leg.

"Sleepy." He asked his voice rough.

"I was." He felt her kiss his shoulder.

"Can we talk?" Not exactly ideal timing, but every cell was vibrating with the news of her pregnancy.

"There are so many other things we could do."

"Eames you're concussed. We are not doing that."

"Even if I let you do all the work?"

**_She was killing him!_ **"Even then." he turned into her and let his hand drift to her hip then down to her thigh. "You'll be asleep soon, but before that, about this baby..."

"I don't even know how... Well I know how," her words were slow and a bit sloppy "I mean I'm peri - perimenopausal. I'm 45. That's some sperm you have there detective." he smiled she was like a funny drunk, so loose with her words.

"Any thoughts about... the future?"

"Not one."

"Really?"

"Barely know my name right now." she spoke slowly.

"Alexandra Lillian Eames."

"Thanks."

"Something, give me anything before you sleep." he plead just a little.

"I mean if you drown your kid in booze, and then nature kicks you in the gut, maybe it wasn't meant to be. Maybe you don't deserve to be a mother." she went for lightness again though nothing about the moment was. Her eyes felt hot.

His voice was affected when he spoke "You didn't know. _You did not know_." he was emphatic. "And that wasn't nature that was Garrett Sikes. He's the antithesis of nature." She felt his whole body go rigid with loathing. "Son of a bitch." she quelled the rage filled words with a finger to his lips.

"I'm okay" _**I think.**_ She said words dragging. Just when he was certain she was asleep she said. "I'd like..." she stopped and yawned pressing more heavily into him "I'd love to have your child." And that was all she wrote. She went into a deep dark sleep. Coma would be a better word. She was limp, breathing long and low. He reached for his cell and set the alarm. He would wake her in a few hours, just to be on the safe side.

* * *

2:00AM

The glaring red numbers on the bedside clock were hard to look at.

She felt disoriented and thirsty and owwww so much pain. Then she realised what had woken her, a subtle _Beep Beep Beep_. She was drenched in sweat and so hot. Her head was_ throbbing_ and oh... Suddenly the contents of her stomach where all over the floor. What the... She couldn't make sense of it. She heaved and wretched again. Her stomach empty.

Bobby.

He was there in an instant. Scooping her up. And in the midst of it all the discomfort she felt like she was home. He rushed her to the bathroom. _**No lights. Please no lights.** _And he didn't flip them on. Then something wet wiping her face, her mouth. Then water running. More movement. Then a cool washcloth pressed to her brow. And then the rim of a water glass against her lips and pills in her hands. He sat beside her on the edge of the tub supporting her. Then she was on his lap. The steady drip drip drip of droplets from the cloth carving cool, wet, tickling paths down their bodies.

No words.

Just breathing.

Her gentle moan. Because of the pain. Because of him.

He carried her back to bed.


	35. Chapter 35

She woke again at 8am. And he was there curled behind her. She felt contact, the warm press of his body, from her crown down to her heels. Her head felt much better. Everything had the surreal lightness of drug induced ease. An ache here, an ache there but nothing like the furious throbbing she'd experienced during the night. She focused on his hand resting on the sheets in front of her and his warm (bordering on hot) arm over her with the security of a weighted blanket. She listened to his snoring. She aligned their fingers and forearms and felt ecstasy work through her blood like intoxication.

"How are you feeling?" his voice was gravelly and sleepy.

"Like I've been kicked in the face."

She knew she'd made him smile.

"Let me see."

"My kicked face?"

"That. Your stomach. Your eyes."

She rolled onto her back and looked up. It was all so intimate. And he was there, the Bobby she'd known so long. His eyes so soft, sleepy and compassionate, searching hers then pulling back the blankets to inspect her all over. He let his long nimble fingers trip over her bruises.

"The doctor said to watch for bleeding and clots."

"Well nothing like that. I guess it's still in there." Her words were irreverent but her voice was hushed.

"Okay. Good."

"Is it though?"

He sighed. "I don't know."

"I don't know either.

"You should go, you'll be late for work."

"I'm staying."

"Bobby, you've already gone above and beyond."

"I don't think so. I'm staying with you until tomorrow."

"You're what? You..." He pressed his lips to hers softly stopping the words and she was thrilled.

"24 hours and a little bit extra. For my piece of mind."

"You've got to get Sikes."

"They're holding him for me. He's lost in the system. Don't worry."

"You don't have to stay. I woke up. I'm fine."

"Did you think you weren't going to wake up?"

She looked away. "It occurred to me."

"Oh Alex." he sounded pained.

To lighten things up she said, "Are you going to.. uh... " She turned to him wrapping an arm around his middle and pressed her body to his, moving against his morning erection. "I feel much better."

"You don't know how much I want to." His voice deepened.

"Then do." she kissed the underside of his chin and he groaned a little. "I want to be close to you." she whispered.

He almost gave in but managed to hold his ground. "I want to be close to you too. And we will be as soon as you're healed." _**This woman is unbelievably amazing.**_

She felt so frustrated. She made a noise to that effect. His hand slid down over back and bum just caressing in a slow even motion, driving her insane. But not applying any pressure and not going any further.

"And I finally have you in my bed. Is this a cosmic joke?"

"Yeah, this sort of thing happens to me once a week."

"This sort of thing?" What kind of Lothario was he?

"No." he laughed, "Not _this_. I just mean my life is a cosmic joke."

She gave him a look.

"Go ahead. Tell me I'm not a study in Murphy's law."

"You aren't. You're awesome."

His eyes twinkled. Her disjointed declaration warmed him to the core. Oh, he wanted her. Even bruised and puffy she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it." she took his face in her hands and planted a kiss on his forehead. And it felt like he belonged to her.

* * *

He was awesome, and it was an awesome 24 plus hours. And not awesome like the kids use it. Awesome like it was made to be used, awe inspiring. Their metal connection, Alex thought, after all this time was borderline psychic. Or maybe Rodgers was right and they were just becoming one person, she smiled at that, some freakish mutant hybrid because he anticipated her every need. It was so unlike any time they had ever spent together. Ever. It was so relaxed, so rhythmic. Natural body rhythms.

"You're hungry." He stated just as her stomach got rumbly. She turned her head and grinned into her shoulder where he couldn't see how much their domestic connection was thrilling her.

And he knew how to cook! She banked the memory of him standing in her little kitchen cracking eggs for a noon hour frittata. They ate while sitting at quarter to twelve positions at her small round table. When they were almost finished he lazily turned her hand palm up and began reading the lines.

"This is us." he ran his index finger over a deep central groove "Your line of fate and career. _You are dedicated_."

"You're playing with me."

"No I'm not look at how strong it is." She could see it was the most prominent line on her hand.

He drew a tickling finger back and forth over a thin swooping line "and here, this is your heart line." He held up his own hand, "it looks just like mine, and that means we are deeply compatible." Their eyes met warmly. He was right both their lines were about the same depth, started between their index and middle fingers and ran off their palms.

"And see this? This means you have an adventurous spirit." He pointed to the gap between her head and life lines.

"Do you think I'm adventurous?" She didn't see herself that way. Alex felt very workaday and ordinary most of the time.

"You're a warrior. You'll go anywhere and try anything. You are so much braver then I am."

Her chest tightened with love at his perfect warmth.

"Show me yours." She demanded immediately holding his broad palm in both of her hands. "What are those?" she pointed to the sharp little ticks across his head line almost like some deity were keeping score by tally.

"Those are the pivotal moments." His face was soft and open, "when I made life changing decisions." He pointed to the one about four ticks in "This is where I met you. See how nothing is the same afterwards." Their eyes captured each one anothers.

"You can't know that." She whispered, after all she was still Eames, a hard skeptical woman having a transcendent moment.

"It can't be anything else Alex."

* * *

Later she lay on the couch. He was about to read her an article. Not for the first time. He sometimes did this while she drove on the job. But this had nothing to do with a case so it was a first of sorts.

"What are you in the mood for?" he waved the latest issue of the New Yorker while she lay still and flat on her back looking up at the ceiling waiting for the latest pill to take effect so she could turn onto her side.

"Ummm. You pick." she winced a little and he saw it.

"What can I get you?" his brow furrowed and he leaned forward in his seat. She felt very far away from him, across the expanse of coffee table.

"Nothing. You're perfect." she exhaled a slow regulated breath through tight lips, it reminded her of labour. Then she jumped with shock - 10000 volts of electricity type shock - remembering that she was pregnant. Pregnant! She screamed in her head. This pose, the breathing, the pain, the... It was a mind trip of the most extreme kind. She didn't betray her thoughts, to him she said, "I'll be fine in a few..."

He'd seen her jump, so of course he assumed it was pain. "Can I?" he gestured at her. "Sit with you."

"Of course yes." she said immediately edging up and wincing again.

"No. Don't move." he commanded, "I meant..." he lifted her bare legs to edge beneath them. "This should help." He let his hands play over her feet, calves and thighs, not quite as high as her shorts, his thumb kneading and rubbing. And not surprisingly he was right. The slow gentle massage seemed to release muscles he wasn't even touching. The pain became dull rather then stabbing.

She sighed "Thank you."and he watched her intently, loving the sweet puff of contented breath. He'd read an article in a medical journal about the power of touch in pain relief. The study had focused on touch in intimate partnerships like marriage and common-law couples. As he held her foot in his palm he thought _hard_ about what they really were to each other.

Still caressing her, he shook open the New Yorker one more time and began to read "The New Mayor's Frenemies: The politics of Bill de Blasio's signa...'

She opened one eye looking down on him "What is that?" She interrupted coyly.

"I'm reading to you." he tilted his head questioning her question.

"I meant what are you reading to me?" a little of her sass was back.

"Y- you said it was my choice."

"Can I see it?" She did her best to look innocent in the request, as she reached for the magazine. She scanned the table of contents and calmly and informed him "You've been vetoed. I'll take this one please," she stabbed the page.

He laughed and it felt really good bursting out of him. "Okay okay, ladies choice. 'The Last Culture Guide You'll Ever Need' by Lane Brown." he began.

* * *

The natural rhythm of the day continued. she took a late afternoon nap while he ran to the store for milk and butter. She managed get up and pad around the kitchen while he made dinner. Watching him as he stirred a boiling pot of fettuccine she confessed what a horrible cook she was, which had prompted a lesson on perfect pasta technique.

"Salt the water like the sea..."

He was saying when she took hold of his arm. In a split second she had every ounce of his attention.

"Hey." she said.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you for taking care of me."

"Where else would I be?" his smile was so soft a spoon in his hand his big body curved toward her.

She rose up on tip toes and kissed his mouth, lightly. When she pulled back he swooped back in "Is your lip sore?" he murmured.

"No." She lied, it was, a little, but she wanted him more then she feared the pain. "Kiss me."

And he did deeply until the pot frothed and steamed and boiled right over.


	36. Chapter 36

They slept together again that night just as they had the night before, holding on to one another. Platonic. But was it really that? Because Alex had never felt such a connection with anyone. It pained her to think that. She'd been married. And she had held on to Joe for so long. But this was the first time she'd truly betrayed him. Not _him_ exactly, just the contract she unconsciously made with his ghost. Not _literally_ of course, Alex was a skeptic she didn't 'do' ghosts. But still, she imagined she could actually feel him leaving her as she lay there with her new lover. She imagined she'd been holding him earthbound for all these years. It was a little creepy and a little comforting.

Through the drawn drapes the streetlights below gave the room a bluish glow. Occasionally the odd beam from passing car headlights danced over them casting funny shadows. Bobby schooched down in her modest (for him) queen sized bed even though doing so made his feet hang over the edge, because he wanted to align with her. They never got to be face to face when they stood, but they were now, her floral printed pillow balled under his head, his eyes looking deep into hers. Alex mirrored him in placement and position, together their bodies in the shape of omega.

"I don't want to go to sleep."

"You aren't still afraid?" he ran a thumb over her cheek.

"No." she shook her head a little.

"Then..."

"This is too good." she admitted.

"I know." he whispered.

"And you go back tomorrow."

"Don't remind me." he rumbled and reached low for her hand, pressing it against his mouth.

She didn't want to think about any of it, work or cases or Garrett Sikes. She wanted to be here now.

"I don't want to leave you." he said. He might have meant because she was a walking bruise, or maybe because he couldn't live without her. She let him have his ambiguity because it was still the most intimate statement he'd ever made either way, especially with his face so close and his minty breath wafting over her. He'd used her toothbrush. He'd called out to her from inside her bathroom just before bed. He hadn't so much asked her as told her he needed to brush. Then he followed that up with some statistical gobbledygook about toothbrush sharing, the incidence of disease transmission and the importance of disinfection with boiling water. And she'd called back to him that he didn't need to risk disease, she was just fine if he wanted to keep his mouthful of plaque, and based on the amount of time he'd spent spouting off, she was sure it was case of full blown tartar now. There hadn't been any further 'information' issued from inside the bathroom.

"Maybe we should go see a movie." she said suddenly.

He checked an imaginary watch "Right now? I think we missed the last show."

"Not now silly." she laughed "Maybe in a day or two." she was thinking that they didn't have a plan. She was thinking that they might let work and emotion and politics get in the way again. She was thinking that they needed to figure out how to be together and quick.

"A date."He was thinking he'd known her for almost thirteen years. He was thinking he'd been inside her body. He was thinking she's having my child and we've never been on a date. A planned event, a set time, just the two of them with clear romantic intentions. A date. "That is a _very_ good idea. Wednesday night. We'll see how you're feeling. I'll pick you up for dinner first, say 7?"

She wanted to kiss him her joy was so profound, then she realized she could, his lips were just a head tilt away. But before she put the thought into action he kissed her first, completely in sync. They both wanted more it was obvious from the steady escalation: just lips, then lips and tongue, then lips, tongue and hands, then lips, tongue, hands and a gentle moan. But it wasn't to be. He wouldn't let them and she pressed her lips into the pillow to stop from begging for more. He whispered that he didn't want to accidentally hurt her. And she reluctantly agreed remembering how physical they'd been together.

He got up from the bed abruptly. "Hey where are you going?" she felt instantly bereft.

"You can't turn over." he explained (with the injury she favoured one side) and he tucked in behind her making her his little spoon "And we have to get some sleep." He adjusted himself around her and almost immediately she felt him drifting off, parts of him pressing more heavily on her then they had before. It was a glorious weight. In a 180 degree turn from last night her concussed brain couldn't shut off. She felt a little melancholy at the thought of giving up their private world and she was savouring a bond she'd never felt before.

_**Even with Joe. **_A small voice mocked again.

Partly, she was sure, because time had eroded the memory of what they'd had. And partly because Joe had always held himself away from her on some level, not unlike Bobby honestly. It was the way of the cop. But she and Bobby had broken through, achieved a higher level of understanding because they worked together. Alex and Joe had been awash with secrets. The ones they had to keep while undercover, for survival, to allay danger. She and Joe had been normal in most respects but she'd always been so aware of the gaps, the holes in the relationship big enough to put her hand through. They'd gotten close of course, they _had_ been in love, but sometimes, with some people, closeness wasn't an intellectual function it just meant proximity. It meant living, cooking and sleeping together. Which was fine.

**_Fine._**

_**Fine.**_

She let the word rest on her tongue. **_Lots of marriages are based on that._** She remembered Joe and their hot teenaged sex, she'd been 19 about to turn 20 when they met. All abandon, fast cars, young bodies and delusions. They'd been on again/off again, more times then she could count. After graduating from the academy they had finally felt grown up enough to make it official. Permanent. **_Permanent, yeah right._** They had been so naive. She remembered all the nights alone, conflicting schedules, tiredness, making ends meet and a reoccurring theme about the right time to have a baby.

_**A baby. **_

_**A baby.**_

Then her mind was off down another rabbit hole. She emerged on the other side in a different place, with a different man.

With Bobby she felt so grown up, so fully formed. So mortgaged and 401k'd. And they were working with years of knowledge. Years of complimentary thinking. Years of shared experience. Years of comfortable silences. And of course this new explosive passion which made her feel about 19, and act about 19, but be forever grateful she wasn't.

She tried to brace for impact because the bright light of real life was bearing down on them like a freight train. She tried not to read too much into this island oasis for two they had created. She had to remind herself that the world that awaited them, their work world, was not lazy lunches and good intentions. Their world would punish them for this… fraternization. Their world would leave them broken and bloody on the floor. But it was hard to scare herself with 'what if's' when the right now was so wonderful.

* * *

Before dawn she woke and stiffly sat on the edge of the bed. A consuming pain in her ribs and stomach there was just no right way to lie. She didn't want to take the drugs (maternal instinct). Even though the doctor had said it was fine, she just didn't feel right popping pills. But they were the only way she could function. She breathed rapidly and quietly between barely parted lips deeply afraid of filling her lungs… _it fucking hurt._

"You okay?"

"Sore." she bit out.

"I'll get your…"

"No No, you have to be up in a couple of hours. I've got it."

But he stayed awake with her anyway for the 45 minutes it took for the medicine to kick in, stroking her arm and telling her some ridiculously fantastic tale about the serial killer case he'd worked with Declan in South Korea. He still felt the need to apologize for using Declan's name around her, but hearing about tentacles of the octopi, the cool satisfying sweetness of the Bingsu, the ill-fitting local clothes, the marketplace full of exotic fare, the honour and love among family, all those things were worth Delcan's cameos. Bobby's words splashed across her mind all wild and bold. He painted a verbal canvass and the colours were so vivid, and the smells so ripe and the sound so loud. Her internal eye could actually see the quality of the sunlight on the other side of the world. She accused him of embellishing because the tale and it's imagery were so sharp all these decades later, but he wasn't, this was just his marvel of his mind. And gratefully it distracted her enough that before she knew it that sweet numbness had worked through every limb and she'd been able to drift off to sleep.

* * *

She woke that next morning and he was gone, of course. He left a note. He would call and **_feel better,_** it had said. She looked at it and didn't know how she could work with him again. Just have that and not have this. She had never felt so lonely. Never. Ever.

He did call. Everyday. And then often she called him again later on, so really make that twice a day. It always started the same way.

"Hi it's me."

"Hi you."

Then he'd ask about her health.

"How are you? Any dizziness? Nausea?"

"I threw up. I've had a headache for most of the day."

"Take your meds." sometimes he was a bit Captain Obvious.

"I know. That would be easiest but I'm trying to cut back"

"Why?"

"You know why Bobby." She urged. He wasn't being purposely obtuse. He just hadn't got his head around it, her pregnancy. Honestly neither had she. Her sense of responsibility still felt arbitrary and contrived, not real, not like it had with Nathan, when the hopes of so many had been pinned on her.

"I do? Oh... Yeah. I do."

"Yeah. Until I decide what I'm going to do I'm trying to avoid too many drugs. And I'm not sure the nausea is about the concussion anyway."

_**What she was going to do.**_ That was the only thing he heard in that sentence. He knew Eames, she was a feminist and he knew exactly how militantly pro choice she could be but was she really considering _that? _On the baby question Bobby didn't know anything, not what was up or down, in or out, he was surprised he knew his own name. But of all the obstacles in their way, their ages, potential health issues, their lack personal commitment, he hadn't even really considered the abortion question.

She was anxious to change the subject. "How's the case?"

"I'm going in with Sikes today."

"Good I'm glad it's you." Then she thought of something. "Remember Jane." He didn't need her to tell him how to interrogate. But he might need to be reminded of the big picture. Sure Sikes had beat the shit out of her, but he'd done vile things to Jane Walston.

"Got it." he said "I think she might be the tip of the iceberg." Alex nodded then remembered he couldn't see that.

"I was thinking exactly the same thing. Can you send me the file? Keep me in the loop."

"Will do."

"I can't wait to get back."

"Don't rush it.

"Easy for you to say."

She was already going out of her mind with boredom, eager to get tagged in. But she was off mandatorily for 12 days. More if she needed it, but not less. She turned this way and that in the mirror looking at the bruising and swelling on her face. It had deflated some but it still looked pretty horrific. She pulled up her shirt. Again, the bruising was profound but she wasn't looking at that. She was trying to get her head around it. A baby. She and Bobby were kind talking around it which didn't seem all that healthy. But they had only slept together once. It was a lot of weight and repercussion for one time, even with all those years of partnership and friendship behind it.

Could she do this?

Could her body?

Would he want a say?

Did he deserve one?

Would he stand by her?

Was it foolish to even consider this at this stage in her life? She would be in her sixties with a 16 year old. Put like that it seemed ridiculous. And Bobby, well if he even considered sticking around he would be that much older. She remembered that psychopath John Tagman and his homemade lobotomies, he'd been an only child with elderly parents. _**Oh Christ. No firm correlation Alex****.**_ She wanted a life with Bobby so badly, she wished desperately that this had happened a decade ago. But then she imagined, a smart little girl with his dark curls or a strong empathetic little boy.

She closed her eyes against her conflicted mind. She felt another headache coming on.


	37. Chapter 37

By the time Bobby sat across from him in Interrogation Room C, Garrett Sikes looked like he'd been around the block a few times. Like he'd had some mysterious trips and falls while in holding. He looked as though a well placed foot might have brought his shackled body down hard in a hallway. Or maybe he'd been pushed a little too forcefully into a cinder block wall while being cuffed and uncuffed. Or maybe the bracelets had been applied a little too tightly. Bobby knew about the thin blue line. The brutal blue line.

Sikes was also obviously in deep withdrawal, a double whammy ill and despised, no, a pathetic troika because he'd waived his right to counsel so he didn't even have an advocate. There was a tremor in his hands, his brow was beaded with sweat and to Bobby he looked like a man who didn't have much time for this earth. There was a hollowness in his voice and eyes. It was immediately easy to see why he had attacked Eames. Bobby could imagine the man's mind corroded by methamphetamines, the gateway drug to paranoid aggressive behaviour and mental illness. Goren sighed deeply not sure how to approach such a pathetic case. So he sat clasped his hands on the table and gave it straight.

"You're looking at attempted murder Garrett."

"I didn't do any..."

"Of a cop." he cut off the denial, short and sharp.

Sikes launched into a vague shaky tale. "I was waiting for someone. Then there was all this noise, didn't sound good so I hid." he crossed his arms quickly, mania in the movement.

Bobby pushed back his chair purposefully. And watched the man jump. _**Increased anxiety, increased startle response**_ he logged the results. He decided then and there that his whole interrogation was going to have to be a sensory assault. He was going to have to play on the man's mental and physical weaknesses. "The police announced themselves."

"I didn't hear anything."

"You got selective hearing Garrett?"

"Huh?" the man said and Bobby had to hold back a smirk.

"You hear what you want to hear! Let's test that." Goren jumped up dramatically. "Do you hear this Garrett?" he knocked on the outside of the interrogation room door." Sikes just glared. "Do you?" Goren yelled again.

"Yeah, yeah."

"How about this." he knocked lightly on the table.

"Yeah."

"How about this!" planted his hands, leaned in and whispered "Tell me the truth or you'll rot in jail." And he was positively sinister.

Silence.

Goren slammed both fists on the table receiving another desired reaction.

"Okay, okay yeah, I heard them. But I wasn't going down for a wrong place, wrong time thing."

Satisfied Goren sat again. "Do you remember attempting to murder an officer of the law?" Bobby had seen some of the assault, but he was _going_ to get a confession. This sack of flesh wasn't going to escape on a technicality.

"That bi... cop attacked me it was self defence." The perp's face was a mottled red.

"How did she manage to get the upper hand?"

"Upper hand." he scoffed "She didn't know what the fuck hit her. " His lips edged up a bit "I had her on the floor." Then he frowned and quickly added "But like I said, self defence and she never said she was a cop."

"You had her on the floor? Because you ignored the police sweep. Because you hid in a closet. Because you surprised Detective Eames. Because you j- jumped her and _violently_ assaulted her. Isn't that right?" Bobby was barely containing his own rage and disgust. This was a dangerous position to be in he knew that he could quickly become a victim of his own involvement. He looked down at his own clasped hands using a relaxing technique, subtly tensing and releasing the muscles in his forearms.

The addict was silent.

"Isn't it?!" Bobby raged.

Sikes let his head list and bob a little.

"What's that? What's that Garrett? Is that how a coward says yes? A pathetic drug addict says yes?"

"Yes. Yes. I jumped her." He was a lump of misery. "I - I can't control it." he looked at his hands.

"The rage?"

"Uh huh, the rage."

"How did you get caught up in this Garrett? Just being in that building makes you a guilty man. Possession of stolen goods."

"I don't know noth..."

"Really even about the bike chop shop downstairs. You were sitting above over a million dollars in stolen bikes."

"Bikes? You think I know about bikes." he huffed and ran a red hand back and forth under his nose in a frenetic motion. "I said I was upstairs waiting for my friend."

"Really did you beam up to the second floor? Did you climb up the outside of the building? You walked right passed all those bikes to hide and ATTACK a police officer!" he yelled.

"Yeah okay, okay. But I just went where I was told. I got nothing to do with bikes. He said go to 21 Davisville, go upstairs and wait."

"Who said that?"

"What?"

"Yes you said he. He who?"

"I didn't say he." Two steps forward two steps back.

"Is this the he?" Bobby held up a picture of Tyler Mayford. "Do you know this man?"

"Nope."

"Well he says you sold him drugs."

"Well he's losing it."he adjusted over and over in his seat.

"Stop fidgeting and look at this picture!" Goren yelled angrily to combat the man's drug induced attention deficit disorder.

"Sure. Sure I remember now." he worried away at a hangnail "I ran him his prescription." He said it in such a way that dared the cop to find a problem. It was bravado he reeked of weakness. Bobby faltered for a moment because it was entirely possible that this guy was so mentally impaired that he might not have the capacity to confess to all the layers of his crimes. He had to recreate the story.

Goren stood and perched on the corner of the table, as close as he dared to the unstable character. This close to Sikes he could see a facial palsy in the man, the left side dipping lower then the right. He also saw those telltale rotting teeth. Bobby hated Garrett Sikes. He hated him in a way that scared him. But still, if the detective had had the power to eradicate this drug, this life sucking poison from the world he would have without a second thought. Even if his actions saved Garrett Sikes. **_Frank. _**The name suddenly popped up, front and centre in his mind and a wave of sadness crashed over him. Maybe he'd lied to Eames, maybe he did miss his big brother.

"Was this woman there?" Bobby held a picture of Jane against his chest, his heart, and slammed his finger into it.

The suspect moved his head in a short twitchy negative way.

"Well we have a problem. An even bigger problem then being implicated in 2 felonies." he reached back and slowly unzipped his portfolio for dramatic effect and and deliberately placed four large colour photos on the table beside him square to the corners and evenly spaced. He'd had them enlarged to 11x14 for effect.

"Oh man…. Oh fuck… don't show me that man. I just ate." Sikes turned away from Jane Walston's strangled mutilated body with the backdrop of grey concrete. The most unsanitized images of brutality.

"Your work upsets you?"

"You're fucking crazy. I didn't do that!" he scratched his neck like he had a parasite. And Bobby wondered briefly if maybe he did have something catching. It was probably best to let the table be a barrier. He moved back to his seat.

"I think you did. You're a very violent man Garrett."

"Naw, naw, not like that. That's crazy shit."

"Someone sliced into her chest with a bread knife." Bobby racheted up the the discomfort.

"Ewww."

"Someone took her heart and threw her body away like garbage. Was that you Garrett?"

Sikes sat, his frantic knee slammed against the underside of the table lifting it and creating a racket of bumping and scraping. Instead of creating the unease he desired Bobby was feeling it. This was going south. The detective stood and abruptly swung the table out from in front of the addict and sent it careening toward the door.

"Okay. Okay… Calm down man." The perp held up two quaking palms.

Bobby calmly held a headshot of Mayford (yes the raving narcissist had had a drawer full of headshots in his apartment) and Jane Walston's smiling annual school photograph side by side. He needed to make a clear preschool level correlation for this man. Bobby rolled his eyes, next he was going to have to break out a white board and box of tactile aids - plush toy knives and hearts.

Sikes looked at the pictures more closely "Yeah sure." He said casually, Like he'd been asked about the weather. "The guy… That guy had that chick in his bathtub and he was filling it with ice." _**Ah, the sour, rancid taste of victory**_ Bobby swished it around in his mouth. He and Eames had gotten it exactly right.

"So this man, a high powered lawyer, invited you into his apartment and showed you the woman he'd just killed?" his voice fairly dripped with skepticism.

"Yeah." he sat back gnawing his blackened raw fingertips.

"No." Bobby huffed "Let's try again."

"That's what happened. I didn't do a murder."

"I'm not saying you did."

"You want me to help you nail him?"

"I want the truth." Bobby leaned against the wall arms folded. His frequent movements, his volitility, his noisy displays all part of the plan. Shock and awe. "Look. We know Mayford is a murderer but we need the whole story."

"He told me to come in. He wanted me to look. That guy is a fuckin' sicko. We're safer with him locked up."

"If that's really what you think, then why did you agree to cut her?"

"What?" Sikes paused, "I didn't."

"You did. We all know you did. I'm going to be honest Garrett. This guy Tyler Mayford is a rich big time lawyer you don't want to get into a 'he said, he said' with him." Sikes' knee started going again. "Abuse of a Corpse? Accessory? I'd take that over first degree murder any day."

The addict turned a ruddy shade of distress and appeared to stop breathing. Bobby was half ready to grab the department defibrillator not sure if it was a seizure or a heart attack or what. Panic. It ended up being panic. "I didn't do it." he said at last suddenly crying "I-I know who did."

"Who."

"My evil child."

"Pardon?"

"He lives in here." the man grabbed a handfuls of shirt and chest. "He wants what he wants."

"He comes out?"

"Yeah. " the beaten man drew in a long snotty breath and nodded. "I tried to stop him. I tried to, but he wanted to see her heart. He thought she was so pretty. He wanted to hold it and squish the blood between his fingers. "

"Where did he cut out the heart?" He was going to assume this 'evil child' was a metaphor for his stripped drugged out brain.

"In the tub."

"In Tyler Mayford's apartment?"

Sikes nodded grinding at his red wet eyes.

"Where was Mayford?"

"I don't know." he burst forth angrily. "I wasn't there!"

Bobby moved a step closer. "Okay. Does your evil child know?"

"He never knows anything, he just cuts and rips and tears and punches. He likes blood."

"Tell me about the dump. Who moved the body?"

"Was it moved?" he asked innocently.

"Well it didn't get up and walk away." Bobby burst getting tired of this ridiculous character. Garrett Sikes wore innocence like a fish wore a coat.

"Oh yeah. That guy, the lawyer, he put her in a suitcase and wheeled her away." he almost smiled.

"And you dumped her."

"No."

"And you dumped her?"

"Are you deaf man?"

"She was dumped at your old stomping grounds Garrett on your favourite b-ball court. Where you sell crack and meth to kids. Seems like a pretty big coincidence. Maybe it was all you. That's what Mayford wants us to think. So that he can walk away from this. And it's pretty feasible Garrett. Maybe you delivered the drugs tied him up, raped and strangled his companion and …" It was fantastical yarn Bobby was weaving, but his subject was about to crack.

"No. I cut 'er." he pled "I cut her, that's it. Can I go now?"

_**To Rikers you idiot. **_He thought but kept his lips sealed, packing and straightening the chaos he'd created. As much as Bobby wanted every little detail and to plug every crack and gap there would always room for speculation. But Sikes wasn't going anywhere, they had his address, they could always dip into this filthy pot again later. It should have been over. Bobby tried to purge his mind of Eames, tried not to see her supine on the floor being attacked, but she was there everytime he blinked. And although he'd gotten what he needed from the perp part of him couldn't stand the inequity. _His_ Alex, hurt, afraid and this guy totally oblivious to the pain he caused. Before leaving room Bobby let _his_ evil child take over, in a moment of infantile rage (that would probably earn him disciplinary action), he kick the side of Sikes' chair _so hard_ that the man teetered and struggling for balance then fell to the floor.

The thin blue line.

He was no better.

* * *

Date night. It was Wednesday and it was 7:45pm but neither of them were in a frame of mind (or body) to face the public. He wanted to be with her, after today, after Sikes and based on the way she'd received him pressing against him with breasts and hips, she wanted nothing more as well.

He'd fought the urge to go to his local first and get blitzed. He'd done good today. The criminal had confessed and all was right with the world. _**Wasn't it****?** _It was up to the courts to assess the validity of an insanity defence, if that's where this was going, **_but_** **_I've done my job_**. Still, as seemed to be the way with this type of victory, it was euphoric and exciting in the moment, and then by quitting time he just wanted to forget.

Eames was still soft and wounded. He wished he could grab her, spread her and throw her up against a wall like that _other_ time. Would she let him be rough and crude? Would she let him rip off those tight little yoga pants? Would she let him bang her while she gripped the sofa? It flipped to a fantasy sequence, she would yell 'harder' and he would give her what she wanted.

**_That would change the tone of this day. _**

He was looking at her like a predator with undisguised sexual intensity. But she missed all of it because she didn't look up. Instead she wrapped an arm around his middle and suggested that they just chill out. And that diffused him because she was so feminine and _normal_.

She couldn't handle him tonight.

He'd break her.

"I bet you aren't a TV guy." she ventured teasingly still oblivious. He'd mentioned shows in the past but usually they were irritatingly highbrow on some public network.

"I bet I can surprise you." he said venturing into her small kitchen unpacking the barbecue sandwiches he'd brought with him in a bag. A barbecue caesar wrap for Alex and something called 'Texas Heat' for himself. It was probably not the most date friendly choice based on the amount of onions and Jalapenos he'd asked them to ladle on the thing. But he had something else in his coat pocket something important to the plan. His blue flex grip toothbrush and a large tube of toothpaste. Something of his to leave in her home.

"Hey, you okay?" Her voice broke in, because he was spacey. He'd paused while unwrapping the sandwiches to stare off into nothing.

"Yeah." his answer was clipped.

"Bobb…"

"I'm fine okay." he barked. She'd nearly forgotten_ this_ version of Goren.

"Okay fine." she backed off. His remorse was immediate but he couldn't bring himself to say anything. He'd lost the ability to communicate.

They ate in silence in 'their' positions at her table. She looked at him frequently but he was stoney, his eyes cast downward to the most vile sandwich she'd ever seen. She couldn't be angry, even though it was a little like having dinner alone. He _was_ making an effort. And maybe, she thought, a little meanly, her revenge for this lame date would come later when he had a wicked case of heartburn. Then like the soft touch she'd become, she thought of her medicine cabinet. Pepto Bismol? Yep. She couldn't not take care of him.

"Are you going home tonight?" she asked suddenly.

"Propositioning me on the first date, why Miss. Eames."

She smiled **_Ahhh human again._**

"If you'll have me?" he said in an endearingly unsure voice.

**_Oh she'd have him all right._** She nodded warmly taking a bite of her wrap. And he thought for about the millionth time since he'd met Alexandra Eames how lucky he was that she was endlessly patient and endlessly forgiving.

Afterward they sat on the couch in an impressively complex configuration of limbs. Her between his legs, back to chest, both of his arms loosely about her, one of her rogue legs thrown over his, one pair of hands meshed. It was all about contact.

And about 15 minutes into a very low brow sitcom their symphonic snores drowned out the television laugh track.


	38. Chapter 38

He took a step back after that.

From their relationship.

At least that's how it felt to Alex.

Bobby was calling less frequently and she hadn't seen him in 72 hours. She was going back to work soon. She had been off for 2 full weeks. She had added an extra couple of days so she could return to 1PP on a bright early Monday morning. She still felt awfully sore, but if she had to spend one more unproductive weekday alone in this apartment she'd snap.

With cabin fever top of mind, she found herself on a Friday afternoon digging through her dresser drawer of forgotten activewear. She pulled out that sleek yoga ensemble that she (and Jane) had paid so much for. Still on autopilot she slipped into the black and pink gear, laced up her Nikes and went down to street level. Alex jogged down the avenue trying to honour any discomfort she felt in her body. Life had to go on, baby or no baby, rib pain or no rib pain, concussion or no concussion. She had to find herself again and do the things she loved.

The city embraced her with a warm smoggy hug. She breathed deeply, the air was so fresh. She was kidding herself, it smelled of car fumes and a little like a sewer overflow, but after the stale enviroment of her apartment she took it all in. She shaped her nimble body to the spaces on the sidewalk. Going around the man and his border collie, nipping between a magazine stand and a guy on a smoke break, jumping lightly at each curb. Straight up the broad entry into Flushing Meadows Corona park. She'd run her half marathon here and now came back often to recreate portions of that race with it's loops of Meadow Lake and one out-and-back leg to the north end of the Citi Field parking lot, sometimes she even did a circle around the Unisphere.

She'd felt frail over the last two weeks. She'd felt violated and she'd been cloistering, imagining danger around every corner. She could count on one hand the amount of times she had left the house. Now with the wind in her hair, she was filled with a sense of well being, a positive feeling that everything was all right and the world was okay. And that feeling was like a aphrodisiac, it was stimulating , like a shot of arousal - her dirty, sexy relationship with mother nature. She felt _so_ good.

And when she got back, almost 2 hours later, he was there.

She stepped off the elevator and stopped, staring at him over the 20 or 30 foot length of the hallway, with it's neutral beige patterned wallpaper and crazy paisley carpeting. She moved slowly toward her door and him.

"Long time no see."

"You're running again."

"I'm feeling good." His eyes darted all over her, looking so fit and flushed. He felt a stirring in his pants.

"I'm happy to hear that." he offered blandly, no hint of what was coursing through him.

"What can I do for you?" she asked casually.

"Oh I don't know…" he let it hang and this time she did see it, that look in his eyes. He used a couple of fingers to catch her hand raising her arm fully extended like dance partners in days of old. Then he took her wrist, then her elbow then her shoulders, drawing her closer like she was the prize at the end of a rope. When she was very very close, he let his hands slide flat and open down to the damp small of her back. His mouth clamped over hers. _**Oh God**_ it was good. She clung to his broad back kissing him violently right there in the hallway, a common area, where anyone could see. She felt alive, pulsing with life.

Then her back was to the wall and he was unzipping her black nylon/lycra hoodie. "Bobby we're in the hallway." she panted between his ferocious kisses.

"Just want to see…" Underneath he encountered the form fitting, low-cut, vivid pink tank top. Her skin was all dewy and her waist so small. He growled cupping the weight of her breasts "Take this off."

"You need to let us go inside," there was a catch in the words.

"Okay." He conceded, freeing her. As she unlocked the door he grabbed her hips and pulled her rear into him, lowering a little to press into her softness. She she felt the lewd rubbing of what could have been a steel pipe for all of it's subtlety.

"God Bobby. You are so… horny today." There was no other word.

"I've been waiting for this for almost 3 weeks."

The door swung open. "Well make that 3 weeks and 15 minutes. I need a shower."

"No. No shower." his voice low his lips on her neck.

"I stink! I just ran 7miles."

He responded by pulling her tight to him and kneading her bottom. He was all hands, like tentacles round every part of her.

"I have a fantasy." he muttered.

"Oh you do?"

He backed her up and she felt the couch behind her knees her broad, deep, slightly saggy couch.

"Here?" She asked because her couch was not sexy, but she had to admit that his single-mindedness was. He dipped her low with great flourish like they were on a ballroom dance floor and then plopped her lightly into the comfortable cushions. She supposed foreplay was over because he immediately pulled at the stretchy waistband of her pants ignoring her shocked cry, working them down over her reluctant hips and legs with purpose.

"What are you doing?" she demanded breathily. "You've lost your mind!"

He didn't answer he dropped to his knees and plunged his face deep between her naked thighs.

"I haven't - I haven't showered…" her voice stumbled. Because the soft pull of his lips and teeth made everything but arching impossible.

He took a deep breath of her downy dark blonde fur and made an affirmative noise, a pleased noise, "mmmmmm." he said dropping wet kisses all over her. "Better this way." he murmured "Real, earthy."

She blushed. Was he really describing her vagina like a sommelier would a fine wine? She looked at his salt and pepper crown as he moved his mouth on her until it (the room, the planet) lost all sense and meaning. His soft tongue spread her, corkscrewing around her most sensitive parts. And then his magic lips tugged in impressive 4/4 time.

"Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! Bobby."

Fade to black.

* * *

She opened her eyes.

She hadn't really passed out, just floated away on what was now the most amazing orgasm of her life. If it got better every time she would just combust one day. Or maybe she'd become a meteor shower superheating until all of her hot bright bits rained down on him.

She was lying there limp and naked from the waist down, under his curious (kind of detached) gaze. He was, after all, fully clothed right down to his shiny expensive shoes and he was standing up, so from down here he looked like Everest. She wanted to jump up or grab at one of the loose back cushions and let it flop over her private bits, but she didn't. She didn't want shame or anxiety to have a place with them. She was a 45 year old woman. She'd had a baby and she had another baking. She wanted him to eye her like a Botticelli, curvy and flawed and real. Maybe he'd put her up on his wall.

**_"Right you probably like those sweaty naked people in the next room" _**

**_"_****_Lucian Freud. _**As a matter of fact I do."

**_'You can't put that stuff in your home you can't live with it' _**

**_"Well I'm not interested in living with it, I'm interested in thinking about it."_**

Clearly she'd changed. Bobby was the same as ever.

He kicked off his shoes and started to slowly disrobe. She watched unblinking as he revealed more and more of his body. He'd been working out. He'd told her he was feeling his age. Of course there was a little more of him settling round the middle. But she found herself liking his humanity his greying and his softening. He was remarkably gorgeous all the changes of age aside, included even. He was still tall, muscular through arms and chest and thigh. Everything about Bobby was huge, like he'd sprung from a race of giants that had sent him to live with the mortals. Best of all he was completely unselfconscious in that masculine way.

When he was bare, he took her hand and pulled her up. He removed the last of her clothing barriers. She stepped up onto his feet and he walked them awkwardly stiff legged toward the bedroom.

"How are you?" he asked, really late in their game.

"Well enough for this." she answered straining for him. Then she was tiptoed. Then she curved a leg around one of his thighs. Then he helped her abandon her legs altogether and wrap herself around him. Clinging to him.

"I missed you." He stopped for a moment just to feel the weight and curve of her.

"I missed you too." she said between light exploratory kisses, she pulled his earlobe into her mouth.

"We end up this way a lot." he said.

"Tall man" she murmured between kisses "gotta level the field."

"You're like a feather." he told her and she right-back-atcha-ed him

"It's like wrapping myself around a Redwood." she locked her bare feet behind his back.

"Oh yeah?" he said against her neck."You're so..."

"Limber?"

"Hot." he said and slapped her bottom.

"You are a total neanderthal." she said into his mouth.

"I'm going to drag you to my cave now." he growled playing along.

"My cave." she countered finding the sweet spot under his ear feeling him move fitfully under her mouth. She grabbed the flesh of his back with both hands. He didn't move. "Come on." she urged kicking his thigh a little with the heel of her foot.

"So impatient." he murmured sliding his lips down her neck.

"Aren't you." because she could feel something else knocking restlessly against her backside. Her hips moved and her legs tightened vice-like.

"What a woman." he muttered barely audible.

"Yours." she said back just as quietly, her face warming and colouring at the honesty but unable to be less then that. She had wanted this for so long, the banter, the softness, the emotional intimacy, the physicality, the whole package.

"Mine." His eyes held hers. "Why did I wait so long?" he said mostly to himself, turning her thought into a lament.

"This is perfect, right now." she smoothed his short curly locks and she meant it, his mind was clearer now. He was unburdened. He was just better. She dropped small soft open mouthed kisses all over his face and neck. "Make love to me." she whispered in his ear. She said it that way on purpose, because she wanted love, she wanted to give him what was in her heart.

He carried her to the bedroom and lay down with her just like that, beneath him on the broad expanse of lavender sheeting. He braced himself on his forearms and pressed her pelvis deep into the mattress and she didn't let go. She encouraged his weight she craved his weight. It kept her here, with him, in this moment, discomfort be damned. And they just lay like that wrapped around each other. And he covered them for warmth with her old quilt. And then he slowed. He almost stopped completely. He brushed the hair off her face and stared into her whiskey eyes.

"You're here." he muttered once. And she didn't get it. And then she did.

"I'm here." And beneath him she spread even more. She moved her hips shifted, nudged, encouraged him and he entered her slowly. She cried out at that, a noise that sounded like a bliss. She cradled him with her body and he soothed her. Each slow smooth entry healed both of them.

And then at some point she was crying. Real sloppy, messy, snotty tears. She looked away embarrassed because she wasn't sure why, maybe it joy that he had come to her, maybe relief that this was happening again for them or maybe thinking about what she had almost lost. He froze deep inside her.

"What's wrong? Am I hurting you?" he asked low and breathless, made to move away.

"No!" she snatched at him sinking her fingers into his hips. "No. Not even a little." she gave a watery smile. He took one broad thumb and swiped it across her cheek clearing a path through her tears. Then he pressed that thumb into her wet stung lips massaging dipping it between them. Replacing it with his mouth. She quivered beneath him, angling herself flush against him and he pushed again and again into her tight wet warmth.

"Bobby" she gasped at one point. "I love you." The gravity of the moment sweeping away petty doubts and fears. "I love you." She whispered again as he moved her body and soul.

* * *

He apologized an hour later. He needed her again. Then again 4 hours later as the sun came up.

"Again?" her voice low, sleepy and wanton. She knew already knew what he needed from the intensity of his tone and from the unconscious grind of hips against her buttocks.

"Sorry baby." he said not for the first time. But it was the first time he had used an endearment.

"Don't be." she returned with a sexy tone that shot blood straight to where he needed it. She raised her bottom aligning herself with him. Gazing languidly over her shoulder as he pressed in from behind.

Bobby was surprised, he hadn't been this way (so able) for years. He loved how she surrendered to him - acquiesced - because she never did in their other life. But here she instinctively accommodated him. She bent this way or that. She took him closer. She parted her thighs a little and then a little more still. She cupped him and cooed to him. She was his. Her softness here in bed was intoxicating. He loved everything about her. And he took. He tried to give too, but he knew he took. So some things really were the same.

Alex had seen him exactly this way in her minds eye, apologizing for his appetites and compulsions. She had guiltily speculated over the years about just how rough (because of their size difference) and how tender (because of his sensitive soul) he might be. She had a lot of real life information to pull from. Information about how Bobby Goren operated in the world and how that might translate to having him in her bed. How he _pursued_ suspects and _craved_ justice, used methods that confused and confounded. His unfailing dedication to people and cases. She'd seen him _lust_ after information, _devour_ stacks of books and reports flipping page after page. He really couldn't stop. He was driven to know, feel, possess, understand, help. She had waited for this. She had yearned for his undivided attention. But she hadn't really _known_ it would be like this.

His hands everywhere. Always touching, a_lways_. Encouraging her over him. Encouraging her down and around him. His mouth tracking lower and lower. She arched, she sweat, she screamed and it was almost too much. Almost but not quite.

She never thought she could lose her inhibitions so, but he invited it. He asked her to tell him everything. God the things she had whispered, moaned and groaned, about his size, her pleasure, the places she wanted him and how deeply he was inside her. They were the pure unadulterated expressions of desire. And the way she had rode him, her hips rolling over his. The way she had tossed her head back as she moved. She had touched and teased herself just to watch him watch her. Then the way she pinned him and kissed her way down his chest then licked and nipped at his abdomen. She'd taken him deeply into her mouth, felt every vein, felt every ridge, explored him, tasted him, made him beg.

The boundaries were obliterated.

* * *

"Eames?" she'd heard him whisper that same night, in the dark after they were both spent and on the brink of sleep.

She gave a half smile into his shoulder "Alex." she said gently urged him.

"Alex?" he repeated his voice was a low rumble.

"Yes."

"Can you..." he hesitated "Can you say that thing again."

She wracked her mind because she had said a lot of things. Things that would set fire to building out of context (the context of him buried inside her). But he clarified "That thing you said about how you f-feel, about..." His voice sounding endearingly unsure.

She got up on an elbow and pressed a finger to his lips. "You mean how much I love you?" she looked into his eyes as well she could in the darkness. "I love you. Bobby, I can't remember a time when I didn't love you." she felt him twitch a little. He had asked for it, but nonetheless he was tensed to spring away and avoid the honesty.

She threw a leg over him across his thighs. And ignoring the twinge, she lay forward mashing their moist naked bodies, her ear over his heart. The rhythmic thump, thump, thump her lullaby. "Who has loved you?" She asked quietly "Who has said it?" She softly played a hunch.

"You."

Sadly she wasn't surprised.

"My mother loved us in her own way." he added "but she wasn't... demonstrative." she felt him hiding behind his vocabulary, distancing himself from the emotion in the conversation.

"She did love you." Alex said with certainty because in life Frances Goren had leaned so hard on her youngest, asked for so much. The paradox of love. You take the most from those you hold dearest. "Even without saying the words."

"I had a girlfriend once." he let it hang.

"She loved you?"

"She said it."

This was like extracting teeth. "She didn't mean it?'"

"She was messed up." he thought for a little while "I think she had been abused. She didn't love herself. There was no room for me."

Silence.

The revving of a car engine.

Laughter wafted up from the street below.

Then slowly she said. "I'm fully formed." she raised her head and curved a hand around his cheek and jaw. "I'm a little … hard" she admitted "With all the usual insecurities, some sadness in my past, and a draining bitch of a job." She smiled "But all that makes me really normal, I think." She smoothed his hair. "I know you. I know every part of you. And I love you." her voice quietly emphatic. "I love you." she said again, feeling heat in her face and eyes and willing herself not to cry because of the emotion and the sadness of all this. She kissed his lips softly.

As they kissed she imagined him being starved for those words. A little boy flinching when his mother raised her hand or voice. No love for tiny Bobby, just Frances and her diseased mind. Then she imagined him looking to his father and finding a half man smelling of booze and strange women. Then she imagined him deep in his books growing further and further from Frank. **_Dammit Frank you should have been an ally_**. Then she imagined his days in the CID, structure, rules, a crime fighting soldier in far flung locales, tailing Declan (that bizarre, workaholic, excuse for a father figure) no space or time for emotion. Then she imagined the transition to NYPD and their reluctant appreciation for his skills, using him to close case after case while mocking is methods and theories. Never quite understanding or appreciating his genius.

Then she imagined a string of partners, _simple-minded-partners_, wanting to stay under the radar and get home for supper, not equipped to deal with him, a whirling dervish of ideas and plans. Then she imagined him at home alone after solving another brutal, soul sucking case, fixating on _how_ he got the job done, wondering if he was just an unnecessary complication. Then sickly she imagined the streams of willing women that must have been entranced by him, because everybody was, _absolutely everyone_ (even those with no use for him couldn't look away). She imagined them trying and failing to give him what he needed.

Imagine.

Making it this far into life, accomplishing so much, and yet never really being loved, with all the dedication and selflessness he deserved, loved for who he was: beautiful, brilliant, flawed. Her heart ached to give him that.

And he pushed her back pressing her deep into the bed. She tried not to react in pain, because it was fleeting.

"I don't deserve you." he said so sober. For a moment she couldn't believe it.

"You deserve everything good. And if you want me. You can have me." she bared her neck in supplication as she said the words. Giving him the gift of herself. Asking him to take. And he lowered his lips. Then he bit in gently, then harder drawing her skin tight against his lips.

"I can't let you go." he looked tortured. He grabbed her thigh pulling it up along his hip then higher. He admitted something she hadn't known. "I've tried for years to let you go."

"What?!"

"I'm no good for you."

"WHA..." he pressed a finger to her lips stopping her before she got started.

"I need you too much. I hurt you too much. I have too many problems. I'm your biggest liability."

"No honey. No." she murmured.

Alex wasn't wearing blinders. Her career at the NYPD was... speckled. He had gotten them into some really uncomfortable spots over the years, but she was a major case detective. She was half of a partnership with the highest solve rate in the 5 boroughs. She had been offered the most prestigious captain's position in the most prestigious department. And although it had been tainted by Moran - that bastard - and his personal vendettas, the offer had been real.

And then 9 months after leaving, the NYPD had come calling. They'd asked them to come back. Moran was out, and after a string of pro tems MCS was rudderless. They had re-offered her captain. She had never told Bobby, because after that year, after all that time apart, after all the uncertainty, all she'd wanted was him. Not like _this_ of course, she ran her nails up his spine as he buried his face in her neck. She hadn't imagined _this_ in her wildest visions. It was their old perfect pairing, that was what she'd wanted. So she'd played hard to get with them and they'd sweetened the pot, a salary bump, greater autonomy. Of course therapy for Bobby, but that, they'd assured her, was about the optics.

Alex had secretly thought it was a good thing. She loved him, but if anyone's life was worthy of a little probing… Bobby had been less enthusiastic about therapy. He'd wanted to get back on the job too, but he couldn't suppress his shit disturbing tendencies. Before they'd signed the papers, or received their badges and guns he'd managed to piss off a room full brass by taking them on an embarrassing trip down memory lane, then by intimating that the NYPD was run by morons. But all the anxiety, lawyers and legalese had been worth it, it had made them two freshly minted detectives (again).

As far as Alex was concerned they had reached the pinnacle together. If this was bad, then bring it on.

"I want to do the right thing for you."

"You are the right thing for me." she shot back.

He addressed the elephant in the room. "This," he let his fingers dig into her thigh "risks your career. Is this the right thing for you? And the baby. Was not protecting you the right thing too? I am a selfish man."

"Hey." she held his face to stop him, to stop the self-flagellation "If it's either you or the job, I choose you Bobby. I will _always_ choose you."

He looked into her eyes and she felt that sensation of falling that only he could evoke. "I choose you too Alex."

And there was a long silence because it all felt so important. Like they had just been married, like they'd pledged something deep and abiding and unaffected by the winds of change, whatever they be.

"And o-our baby?"

**_Ohhhh Bobby._** Her heart hurt. **_Why did you have to go and say 'our'?_**

"We both … lost our heads."

"What are we...er.. you going to do?" He took himself out of the equation. He didn't want to be presumptuous.

"Can you just fuck me? Can we save all this..." she wanted to shock him and dislodge all thoughts of the real world with her bluntness. It only partially worked as she felt him swell and knock restlessly against her thigh.

"Eames we have to talk about it. It's not going away. It's..."

"Okay, okay. Soon but not now." she reached down and wrapped her fingers around him giving a gentle tug.

"Soon?" his voice wavered.

"Soon." Then she whispered the dirtiest, sweetest thing she could think of in his ear. And he came into her like a battering ram. And then gratefully there was no more talk of babies.


	39. Chapter 39

Alex bounced along the wide concrete promenade leading up to the glass doors of One Police Plaza. She never thought it would feel so good to join the throngs on their way to the office. She'd never been a morning person. She adjusted the shoulder strap of her messenger bag more firmly in the valley of her breast. It was just as she imagined, the morning sun was still a cloud-diffused whitish yellow light, not yet the bright glaring ball it would become. They were heading into the homestretch of November and the wind was cool and brisk.

The outpouring from everyone in MCS was touching. It felt like all eyes and bodies (_the energy)_ in the room fixed on her when she stepped off of the elevator. She dismissed it as fantastical thinking, the result of seeing too many movies, but it was soon clear that it wasn't whimsy on her part, people were marking her return. Alex had become accustomed to sliding in under the radar. She was diminutive in both body and effect, especially in her work garb. But today she didn't feel like a cog in the wheel. She felt buoyed by love and health and wellbeing, and that attitude drew gazes, like fire drew moths.

"Hey Alex!"

"Glad to have you back."

"Great recovery Eames."

"Looking good Alex!"

She ran the gauntlet of goodwill as she made her way to her desk, and to the person she wanted to see more than anyone else in the world, Bobby. He was there. The room tilted then righted when their eyes met. She moved around him to her chair, and in the centre of her desk sat a beige paper cup, next to a small paper sack, next to a tall white coffee mug overflowing with gardenias and forget-me-nots. Her heart skipped. She bent to sample the fragrant flowers.

**_This is love._**

"Welcome back." He smiled at her in the bustling squad room. Bobby struggled to take his eyes off her. She looked great. So shiny and new. A wave in her hair, a ruddiness in her cheeks and her outfit bumped up just a notch from her usual workwear.

"Miss me?" she said her eyes twinkling.

He waggled a finger at her with a little smile, to chastise her teasing tone, and glanced back down at his paperwork. He didn't want to look too long but it was wonderful to see her like this, beautiful, fully recovered and playing with him. While she'd been away he'd glanced at her empty seat about once every ten minutes. Two weeks, 1000 empty glances. 1000 moments that had broken his heart and messed with his productivity. So right now he could burst with joy. Did Robert Goren do joy? There was no other word for this feeling, having her back, alive and knowing he would go home with her.

"Are you ready to jump back in or will you be working desk for a while?"

"Not you too. I'm fine. I'm fine. Send everyone a memo." This morning she'd managed to cover her yellowing bruises with concealer and her sleep patterns had regulated, the fog was gone so maybe she'd kicked this concussion. She did have occasional abdominal pain from taking very sharp breaths, or say, accidentally pulling into a table too hard, but the doctor had assured her that it was all part of the process. The only other issue were the two mandatory therapy sessions. It was the NYPD's own special welcome back present. She looked at Bobby, both of them would be in therapy. No one had the mental high ground in this relationship.

"Hey" he held those large hands up in surrender "I'm more than happy to ride shotgun with you again. It's been a long two weeks." But of course he had also whispered that to her while lying beside her in her bed, after doing so many naughty things to her body. She tingled relentlessly down there and tried to be professional.

"Well I've been doing my homework, so I don't think you'll have to spend too long catching me up."

"Sikes is going away, Mayford is going away. This case should be closed." he said.

"Nothing ever goes to plan." her voice was wistful.

He sighed. "House full of bikes, an allen key and computer software linking to the City-bike program."

"The program they just got off the ground." she shook her head, criminals didn't let the grass grow.

"I know." he got her inflection.

She sat down and took a deep sip of her gift coffee. She found out in short order that it was herbal tea. She made a face. "What the!?"

He leaned in "Just looking out for both of you." Her eyes flew to his wide and doe like. It all still had the ability to shock her. This setting, the squad room was so familiar and yet nothing was the same. Bobby was right pregnancy and caffeine didn't mix (not that she was going to go cold turkey) but she would have to do _something_ about her AM crutch. **_  
_**

"Thanks." She didn't know what else to say. So she unrolled the brown paper bag murmuring her pleasure. Inside the was her absolute favourite treat, a chocolate pecan danish, it was all she could do not to squeal with delight. She mouthed "thanks." again and bit in with gusto. He watched her enjoy his little present. He was captivated by her. After all this time, absolutely captivated, by the flake of pastry clinging to her lip, the light on her hair, the pearlescent buttons on her blazer, how she wiggled a little as she settled back in her seat. It was starting to feel like… He felt a clenching in his chest of emotions unspoken.

He forced his mind back to the job at hand, "Mayford." he said leaning back in contemplation.

"What about him?" Alex asked delicately. She didn't want that bastard to come between them again. Just his name was toxic.

"He orchestrated this."

"You think?

"We got what we needed from forensics, Mayford and Sikes to exceed the threshold of proof."

"Which was so satisfying." her voice was full of undisguised glee. And he smiled,**_ his little sadist_**.

"But there were too many implausibilities. Too many gaps we couldn't fill. That unholy alliance between a society lawyer and a drug addict? Bizzare. Why he invited Sikes in to witness his crime? The dumpsite choice…" He could go on. The case was strong, because they had confessions and forensics but it felt like they were circling the perimetre, like they hadn't gotten to the meat in the middle.

"Are you thinking that this has been about the bikes all along?" she queried "That Mayford isn't just a sexual deviant murderer, he's a kingpin?"

Goren gave her slow nod. He was thrilled. His intellectual other half was back. She articulated everything swirling inside his cranium. And for her part Alex felt that rush of adrenaline. Another adventure. "You went back to the chop shop while I was out?"

"Oh, uh yeah." he searched his desk for a sheet of paper. "Back from the lab, I asked for them to swab the surfaces." He'd played another hunch. "And this," he held out another sheet, "is from evidence inventory. Makes, models and estimated retail value of all the bikes seized in the raid."

She took both documents and her eyes widened, "A cornucopia of illegal substances, and not so illegal ones. We could have gotten a contact high just from being in that place. Cocaine, Marijuana, Meth, Heroin, Codeine, Oxy…" and a further 5 over the counter drugs of choice. She paged through "$1.2 million worth of bikes and bicycle parts." It seemed an insanely exorbitant number.

"5 of those bikes, on their own had a $55,000 dollar value, I based that figure on internet auction site reserve. I thought the sellers might just be ambitious, so Martins and I went to 'The Brake Line' a bike shop, and spoke to Bernard Vesta - the department go-to on all matters bike. According to him the ask isn't ambitious at all." he shook his head "5 bikes worth $11,000 apiece, and there were 250 more ranging from $500 to $5000 each."

"I had a bike in college I think I paid $35 bucks for it second hand." Eames quipped.

Goren smiled "Talking to Vesta was e -enlightening. I- It's a fully evolved subculture. Anarchist overtones, human body as a temple. The gear they sell is more then just the bike parts, it's a clothing philosophy. There's even social advocacy. I picked this up," he held up a flyer Alex read the bold black font on bright yellow paper 'Fight the Power! Stop Bylaw 20-345', Bobby continued, "That bylaw restricts street parking for bikes. There's a petition and a huge rally coming up. He leaned forward and clasped his hands. "this guy, Vesta, had this air about him. Like he was doing us a big favour, the prevailing attitude seems to be that cops don't care about bikes and by extension bike owners."

"Right, Ella Miyazaki." She said quickly driving right up to the place he was avoiding and going inside.

"Right." he said quietly not looking up. Were they going to avoid the slightest hint of Nicole forever? _**Well you did act like a lunatic the last time**_ she reminded herself, **_you want the truth but you can't handle the truth_**. Nicole's young Asian pet had been their first glance into the offbeat world of bike messengers and that lifestyle.

She pushed the conversation on past the awkwardness and made the intellectual leap he was waiting for. "So we think that these bikes were currency for drugs?"

He nodded. On the streets currency went beyond conventional legal tender. Also acceptable for barter were were sex, drugs and bikes. Bikes because they had a high value and were easy to acquire. Eames had spent the whole evening looking up the answers to these very questions, online and through a contact at the ministry, in preparation for her first day back. She and Bobby were still in sync.

She'd learned that sophisticated bike thieves could crack most commercially produced locks in under five minutes. And most people kept their bikes on the street or in the periphery of their houses (the garage, the porch, the foyer) so on the scale of invasive it was a very low risk theft with high return. Time and time again the same criminals prosecuted for petty, or felony bike theft were also implicated in prostitution or the sale of drugs. It wasn't a big a stretch that a lab like the one they'd uncovered might house more then one criminal enterprise.

"Why do you think Mayford gave up the lab?"

"Personal interest? Sending a message?"

Eames huffed and shaking her head. It was a power play. A double cross inside a crime syndicate. Eames best guess was that 'Degenerate A' (Mayford) had called out 'Degenerate B' by 'giving' the cops his stash and one of his minions (Sikes). He was sending a message. He was shaking some one up, maybe a partner or an over eager subordinate, letting them know that he was loco. That a murder charge, and a million dollars down the drain were all acceptable loss.

And all this had been concealed in their simple little murder.

They had Mayford. Now for the other players. This was going to be big.

* * *

"Oh! Oh God!" she was screaming to a higher power _again, _as he drove into her. Alex was braced on her hands and knees being rocked back and forth by the impact of his body. And like a tugboat heading into a squall suddenly realized it was too late to turn back, she was almost there. She felt now, not for the first time, that they were made for each other. The way he hit all of her sweetest spots all the time.

He reached around her, his hands cupping and tweaking her breasts with soft intent. His breath was hot on her ears and neck.

"You are so gorgeous."

"You are amazing."

"Everything I want."

Then his voice dropped an octave "Alex."he called out. She loved that, the little hints, the signs that he was right there with her. She'd unconsciously started to catalogue everything about him when he was inside her. The set of his face (far off and determined), the bend of his body to compensate for their height differences and there was always that one sharp breath followed by a low deep "Ohhhhh," just before he spilled into her. Presently, the rhythmic slap of him was taking them there now and during their final crescendo his hands gripped her hips sinking into her pale flesh. She came. He came. And in the aftermath he folded heavily over her, and she drew her legs and arms into a Bobby coated ball of ecstasy.

"That's a good way to end the work day." she panted. And this close his laugh rumbled through her back.

"Yeah, should be mandatory. Better then a stress ball."

Her voice was small, muffled and indignant, "I'm a valium now?" That was the thing, when you were on a case you bled the case, you saw the case like a phantom on the street, you unconsciously walked the path of the victim on your day off and you used the terms (or the name of a certain drug) in conversations with your lover.

He raised up off her just enough to turn her over beneath him, and then enveloped her in a full body hug. "No," he whispered, "My solace."

**_Say it._** She urged clinging to him. **_Just say it. _**She wanted desperately to hear how much he loved her. She _knew_ he loved her, but he'd been broken and bruised. And he just didn't think that way. He would show her. He'd show her over and over a thousand times, but he wouldn't give her the words. She couldn't ask because if she did, that would diminish them. So she stayed silent in his arms and it was a beautiful hug, it was long and quiet and sweaty. She lay her head on his shoulder and felt herself drifting off.

"We're going to talk about it now." he said vaguely, waking her.

"About wha…" every muscle tightened ruining the idyllic moment, and suddenly she was wide awake.

"About you and me and baby makes three."

Alex would have been happy to hide from this talk forever (which was completely ridiculous). She struggled to get away, just like that, like he'd flipped the switch marked _RUN! _but he held her in place.

"What? What is it that makes you so…" **_freaked, scared, miserable, silent_**. All the things he knew Eames never to be. His eyes narrowed, "You're still pregnant aren't you?"

Silence.

"Alex!" He demanded, "say nothing has changed." **_Say nothing has changed._**

"Nothing has changed." She whispered.

"Okay. Okay."

"Lemme go." she rushed out. "Let me go" she demanded again. He held on and she sighed. "Do we have to…"

"Yes." He cut her short.

"We have time Bobby."

"For what?"

"To decide…"

He let her go and stood up and her eye immediately went to his flaccid penis, the dangers of having important post coital conversations. He pulled on his navy boxers while saying, "You're considering an abortion."

"I'm considering everything!" she raged "Including being 61 with a 16 year old!" And she pulled the quilt over her exposed body. "Don't you want freedom 55 Bobby? Don't you want to have the time and energy to enjoy retirement?"

Who the fuc… hell are we kidding!" He almost lost it. "I don't have a retirement coming! I gave that up for my mother. Where do you think Carmel Ridge came from? My inheritance? I maxed out my savings, drew on my retirement plan, with huge tax penalties I might add, I maxed out all my credit cards and all these years later I'm still in the hole. There it is the brutal truth - well you pried into most of it with Ross didn't you? - but here it is from my mouth. I'm a professional, emotional and financial liability."

"Can you stop? Just stop this negative BS. We're cops! Cops and money, remember? None of us are where we want to be."

He just stared at her. And she could almost hear what he was thinking.

_**You're doing okay. **_

And guiltily she looked down because she was, doing okay. Then she thought **_No, NO!_** she wasn't going to be ashamed. And they couldn't afford these little bugaboos, the unspoken issues that would ruin them. She met his angry eyes, "Yeah I'm doing okay, I am! And you want to know why Bobby? Huh? You want to know why?" She held up a finger ticking them off "I'm senior partner my annual salary is 5% higher then yours. And that's no ones fault but your own." They'd come to major case as equals, in fact, he'd had 'years in' seniority. Then he'd started sabotaging himself. And she'd had to become the heavy. Basically the brass had paid her extra to watch him and she'd never kept it a secret, he knew that she was the Goren neutralizer. The NYPD had rewarded her for her small betrayals (at least that was how she'd always viewed it). They'd given her senior partner status, but she was heavily aware of the quid pro quo in that promotion.

She ticked off another finger "I'm a widow. To a man who had 6 years service when he was gunned down. I got a lump sum from the detectives benevolent association and I still get a monthly death benefit from his pension." She appeared to be staring Bobby down, but her mind was somewhere else, mentally she was standing there behind Joe's coffin - he'd had the full fallen officer ceremony with casket watch and honour guard. "Would you like to have your heart ripped out and your life ruined for a few extra bucks?" She demanded and he just gripped the solid oak dresser behind him using it to stay upright. It hurt sometimes to hear how much she'd loved Joe. Even though he'd never known _that_ Alex.

Her third finger flew up. "My family. They helped me pay for this place. It was a one time gift after Gage, after I sold my house. I didn't sell for enough, remember the housing bubble? So they made up the difference to keep me safe and out of debt. The doorman, the alarm system, I can't afford that stuff Bobby, those aren't cop perks, those are the kinds of things a corporate lawyer can afford." Will her brother Will, not Jack the working stiff firefighter brother. Bobby was starting to understand.

He hoped she was done but one more finger, he sighed sensing it'd be a doozy. "I'm better with money. We both know it Bobby. dressing like a million bucks, and replenishing that wardrobe for every notch you edged up on the belt." she was getting mean, too mean but she couldn't stop, "throwing good money after bad to keep your vintage 'stang on the road. The inquiries to top of the line cancer treatment centres, remember that trip to John's Hopkins?"

"I was trying to save my mothers life." he didn't just look angry he looked so hurt. She saw tears in his eyes.

She stopped cold dread filling her. "I'm sorry Bobby. That was too far." She braced for him to leave. _She_ would have. But he didn't move. She stood and went to him wrapping her arms about his middle. He grabbed her shoulders as if to set her back, then seemed to change his mind.

"It's true. All of it." He said quietly. He couldn't even remember how this conversation had started his head was spinning, he felt punched, gutted, turned all around.

She saw it. His self esteem deflated herself holding the pin. He was so hard on himself already, he didn't need her... In that moment she wished she cut out her nasty tongue. She shook her head "No. That was bitchy. Noone's life can stand up to that kind of scrutiny. You didn't deserve that." And they were quiet there hugging and sagging against the furniture.

"Nice try." he said at last.

"Huh?" she tilted her head back.

"The baby. That verbal pile driver _almost_ did it's job."

She sighed and smiled a little,"We have time."

"For what?" They'd come full circle.

"We don't have to decide right now." 24 weeks. The number blinked in her consciousness. For most clinics it was anytime up to 24 weeks.

"Just get to a medical professional." he pled. "Just get off on the right foot even if we don't know what we're doing."

She nodded emphatically, he didn't have to tell her that. She had a appointment booked with an OB. It was in 2 days.

Her heart rate slowed, her muscles unwound, even her voice lowered to normal pitch. She was so grateful that it was over and that they were still talking to each other. She took his hand tightly in hers, tugging. He looked down at it and frowned

"Shower," she grinned now, _really_ pulling, leaning into it. "Come wash my back."


	40. Chapter 40

She'd been called to the principal's office.

At least that's how it felt.

Alex sat in front of Hannah, two days after her return. Her eyes locked on the sleeve of his white shirt following the thin red threads woven into it. Using the plaid pattern as a calming device. Then she looked down at the wine coloured pantsuit she had on, burnt cherry it'd said on the tag, but it didn't feel like the 100% wool promised, it felt like a hair shirt. Metaphorically of course. Every secret was a hair and she was itchy, antsy and just constantly aware of the _rawness_ of her own skin. She wanted to be anywhere but _here,_ talking to _this man_ about babies.

Alex was anxious. But Hannah didn't scare her. He was a company man. And after years of shadowing Bobby, being a party to his insubordination and then after the whole mess with the captainship, Alex felt liberated from the machinations of the NYPD hierarchy. She felt like someone with both nothing to lose and no hope of significant gain, which wasn't as depressing as it sounded. Of course she valued her job, furthermore she _liked_ her job, or she wouldn't be here right now. But she'd had a very life and mind altering experience. Being without her badge for almost a year she'd come to realize - having it, holding it, flashing it - didn't define her.

Eames knew that Joseph Hannah probably hadn't reached her level of enlightenment. Nor did she view him as particularly observant. Her judgements sounded harsh, but she didn't dislike him, she was just _so different_ from him. Bobby had once called Ross reductive, well if Ross was reductive, Hannah was expansive. She never felt as though he was actually seeing what was right in front of him. He was grandiose and he always took the longest view. Maybe because had his eye on a prize no one but him could see - Chief of D's? Or Commissioner? And because of that Alex was almost certain (sitting here staring at him) that he was clueless about all of the personal drama going on between his top two detectives.

Still, she was human.

A human and a rule breaker.

So when she'd heard him bellow "Eames! My office!" she couldn't stop herself from jumping and letting her eyes fly to Bobby's.

"Glad to have you back." her captain rumbled once they were eye to eye over his oddly tidy desk. "And I understand congratulations are in order."

She nodded, the barest of head movements.

"I'm not going to pry and you know the drill about maternity and benefits."

"Captain it's okay, I can get HR to fill me in on any changes to labour code since I did this in oh four."

He smiled "I'm just making sure you know that the NYPD supports the family."

She wanted to look around for the cameras. It felt like she'd stumbled into a public service announcement. At the end there would be a picture of their shiny happy faces and a tag line reading: _**Your captain looking out for you.**_

"How is Goren taking this?"

She resisted the urge to gulp audibly. Was he testing her? Was he poking until she revealed something?

"He's fine. We've been here before, besides it's early days, months before it will affect the partnership." And _that_ was another issue Alex had with having a baby. It meant she was going to have to give up her daily fix of Goren, not Bobby, but Goren - absent minded, fixated, puzzle loving, trivia spewing - Goren. She was going to miss the rush and thrust of working a case with him. They would be together in the evening so that was something, but the thought of another Lynn Bishop edging her out, tailing Bobby like a puppy…

"How's the healing?" He looked her up and down in a very clinical fashion. "I'd never make you for the woman in that hospital bed two weeks ago."

"The marvel of drugstore cosmetics." she quipped "The rest, is coming along slow and steady. I can do the job." she added a bit defensively.

"Don't worry, I know that _you_ know your limitations." It just sounded like a dig, and not a compliment. Was it at Bobby? Was he subtly digging at Bobby? **_Cool it Alex you're swinging at phantoms._** Suddenly the stakes were so high in every aspect of her life. Walking around wearing a constant poker face was taking it's toll. She wasn't being straight with anyone. Not even Bobby. Bobby would be truly disturbed if he got his hands on a hard copy of her mental pro/con list because it was absolutely sociopathic.

_**Pro: baby means keeping Bobby.**_

_**Con: baby means losing my figure - ****again**._

It was not sunshine and lollipops inside the head of Alexandra Eames these days. Part of her wanted nothing more then to shed this lying scaly skin right now _**Hey Captain, yeah it was Bobby, he knocked me up, no need to keep guessing. We've been screwing like bunnies, uh huh, right under your nose. Yep I love him. Uh huh, the basketcase. I want to hitch my wagon to the basketcase forever.**_

She chose the more prudent path of silence.

"How is our multi-million dollar crime ring coming?"

"You want me to get Goren for this." she swivelled in her chair to look longingly a Bobby throughout the glass.

"No, no." he smiled again. "Just casual curiosity, update at day's end, okay?"

"Okay." she stood. **_That was painless._**

"Oh and Eames?" she stopped at the door and turned.

"Tell Goren he's a lucky man."

"Wha - What?" he got her with that one. She tried to play it cool but she did drop her mask just a little.

"That he got you back and sharper then ever."

"Oh uh thanks."

* * *

After coming out of Hannah's office, Alex had casually picked up a sharpie and written a brief note. She's applied it to the front of a file folder and handed it to Bobby. He'd read it and was blown back in his chair as though he'd been shot, he forgot to breathe.

The note shrieked _**HE KNOWS EVERYTHING!**_

He'd immediately crumpled it and shoved it into his pocket, taken a fresh sticky from his pad and in a calm measured blue scrawl wrote: PCS Meet me downstairs in 20. He applied the new message to the same well handled file and gave it back to her. She gave a short sharp nod. More verbal texting. This one was her favourite it meant 'Pretend Case Stuff'. Once they'd been updating Hannah on a particularly weak case and Bobby had worked it into the conversation:

"Oh yeah the husband is good for it but Eames and I need to really go back and work all the angles. The PCS, the brother, the live in nanny, might have been a grudge." It was basically a queue to lie your ass off.

After waiting for a respectable 25 minutes to elapse. They had extracted themselves from the 11th floor with a semi-plausible excuse. Once in the dimly lit parking structure, with the heavy black doors to their private little universe firmly closed, he looked at her.

"You can't just send me a note like this in the squad room." He held up the crumpled yellow sticky.

"I may have overreacted." She admitted sheepishly. Nothing like half an hour of cloak and dagger to sober you up.

"What did he say?"

"The usual Hannah stuff, congrats, blah blah, NYPD cares about the family, blah blah. Then he said how is Goren handling this? Then just before I left he says, Tell Goren he's a lucky man."

"What?! Why?!"

"See" she gestured, "That's how I felt. He glossed over it, said you were lucky to have me back. But trust your gut right? I immediately thought there was innuendo there."

"You might be right. We may not be hiding a well as we think we are."

"Yeah but on the other hand I'm edgy, I may not be thinking clearly."

He nodded, "And we both know Hannah is a blunt tool not a precision instrument. Would he really be that coy? Or would he just sit us both down and start proceedings to severe the partnership."

She shrugged. "Maybe it wouldn't even come to that. I mean fraternization is on the books, but it's really to protect people in subordinate positions. We're equals Bobby, he might use personal discretion and keep it quiet."

"I don't think we should take any chances that he'll spare us out of the goodness of his heart." he paused "The other thing is..." Then he stopped talking like he wasn't sure he wanted to proceed at all.

"What?"

"Oh nothing." He shook his head to dislodge the thought.

"No. What? You have to say it now."

He sighed gustily, "The other possibility is maybe he was hitting on you."

"WHAT?!"

"Tell Goren he's a lucky man?" He mocked Hannah's voice.

"You didn't even hear him say it!"

"I can imagine!"

"Bobby." her voice was full of censure.

"Tell me you haven't felt him treating you... differently lately."

He had her there. She had marvelled at how nice their Captain was being. The uncertainty must have shown on her face.

"I knew it! I knew it! Might have something to do with this." he ran a single finger under her lapel and over the curve of her breast.

"My blazer?"

"Your whole sexy outfit. This is new." There was heat in his gaze and she struggled to balance the fact that she was turning him on, with the fact that she might be turning _their captain_ on.

"He's married." she shot out.

"Don't be naive."

"He wouldn't risk it. Besides why not some hot young piece of ass from the steno pool. I'm radioactive." She wasn't some fresh, new thing that didn't know about her rights or job expectations. And she wasn't afraid to shake up the status quo. Bobby was wrong. He had to be.

"I'm not saying he'll corner you in a janitors room." his smile was broad "Just that he's thinking a few unbossly thoughts." he frowned.

She still couldn't believe they were talking about this. And she refused to believe that she could inspire such reckless behaviour in a man. And then Bobby grabbed her shoulders and she realized that he had every intention of kissing her, right here, in the parking garage at One Police Plaza, with camera's lurking in who knew what places. Maybe she did inspire recklessness. She pushed him back.

"Are you crazy?"

"Maybe just a bit jealous." he admitted.

"Well shake it off." and she engaged the engine.

* * *

"I - I've been thinking." Bobby said.

"Please say it's about this case." her private life was driving her insane.

He smiled "We need to go to the department of transportation, and poke around in Mayford's stuff, but at this point we might need a big stick."

She nodded bureaucrats weren't known for their loose tongues or tiny paper trails. If they were going to poke around inside Mayford's workplace they had to come armed with legal backup. A warrant. But warrants didn't give carte blanche they were about the details.

"We could approach it another way. Quietly, everybody's friend. We need access to all of his closed cases, administrative staff, water cooler talk, any intrigues like an interoffice affair. Later we can subpoena if need be." They'd touched on all of this before, but with kid gloves. Before they'd made a few calls, used publicly accessible information. Now they needed to really toss the place, turn over desks and dig up floors. "But it could be a colossal waste of time. The partner could be a DOT coworker or a subordinate. But what if they're a dealer by trade, or some other criminal association? I still think it could be a anyone really." she looked like the thought was sour on her tongue.

"Well not anyone" Bobby speculated "Someone who's name is a reoccurring theme in Mayford's effects. And probably someone of value, not a passing acquaintance. When you had him in the ring he was full of loathing for Sikes, he profiles as someone with standards and someone who wouldn't get his hands dirty. No I'm betting any accomplice he has is just as white collar as he is and just as morally bankrupt."

"Okay, well let's go then."

They were in Mayford's office up to their eyeballs in irrelevant paper. All of his open cases had been removed, and many of his old cases redacted by some helpful administrator. Lawyer client confidentiality applied and they weren't legally allowed to look. But in their favour there was no love lost around the office between Mayford and his peers. According to his plump brunette assistant he was a very exacting boss and thank you wasn't in his vocabulary. Her name was Lydia, and she was very switched on about the social interactions of her coworkers.

"Tyler uh Mr. Mayford he was a player."

They nodded in unison. This was boring familiar territory.

They probed further and found out, "He went out of town 6 months ago on a trip to Montreal. It was a shadowing contingent. Our bike share very closely resembles their Bixi System, but they've been at it for years longer. There was a lot to learn from them, they offered practical insights about management, litigation, liability and profitability. It was a large scale event."

"It was a four day junket, $100,000 dollars billed to the tax payers of New York. 20 attendees." Eames muttered when they were alone again looking at a list, "What makes you so sure one of the people on this list is our guy?"

"Because, these are the 20 people most integral to the running of the city-bike program as selected by DOT. Our guy is going to have a skill set commensurate with Mayford's but not overlapping. If you're going to exploit a multimillion dollar government operation you'll want to cover all of your bases."

They sat back at 1PP with food and computers, probing the backgrounds of their new suspect pool wasn't short work. They were staring down 9pm before Eames finally said,

"Okay then my money says it's one of these 4." she tossed him the list and it's circled names. In the margins he read her short hand, it showed her elimination process.

"Thomas Keens, Chris Balker, Paul Culpepper, Manuel DeRossi."

"Here's mine." they'd separately completed the same action. And separately arrived at identical results, always a good sign.

Her spirits lifted this was getting somewhere.


	41. Chapter 41

"Bobby it's freeeezing out here." She griped.

Over the last month Alex had felt like a lot of things: a partner, an adversary, a lover, even a baby mama but this was the first time she genuinely felt like a girlfriend. They were standing outside, in a large field, staring down rows upon rows of gleaming, lovingly restored, vibrantly coloured cars, far more vibrant then the sky, which threatened rain (or maybe the first flurries of the season).

They'd made one complete circle of the grounds, tromping through the embattled grass, which was carved up by tire tracks and flattened by footprints, and were now standing close to the entrance again. Overhead was a happy blue and white banner proclaiming: Montpelier Classic Car Show. This was his choice for a Saturday morning excursion, not hers, clearly. Especially without a steaming mug of something caffeinated in her cold little hand. At least she'd dressed appropriately in her army green parka with it's faux furry hood and brown riding boots. Yet it still seemed like the frantic, frisky wind kept creeping up around her legs and under her puffy, goose down coat.

"That's why you're wearing all those clothes." He said distractedly, he'd been towing her around for the last hour, her fuzzy mittened hand locked in his leather clad one. And _towed_ was the word because he had a lot more stamina and fascination then she could muster. "We can get you some hot chocolate if you like?"

She wrinkled her nose at that. It was too sweet. It smelled too chocolatey.

Alex didn't want to be a female cliche, all moany and anti-car. She may've had two brothers, but _she_ was the boy. She was the first born. And her father hadn't wasted any time introducing her to his beloved pastime. She'd been the one with her head deep under the hood before she could even walk. She'd held that shammy caked with McGuire's wax and helped slather it on the family Cutlass. And for the longest time she hadn't worn any nail polish, only a band of black grime under each of her fingernails. Alex wasn't a philistine in this world of spark plugs and alternators. And it was quite an honour that Bobby was sharing his pastime with her at all, considering the attack she'd launched on his baby, his mustang, just 4 short days ago. In addition she was deeply aware of how lucky they were to have professional schedules that were completely in sync.

All of that should have made her_ the_ best company. But she wanted to be anywhere but here. Alex was feeling particularly pregnant today. She was almost fully healed after her chop shop beating. But now that that 'distraction' had passed, her body was giving her a refresher course on how to be with child. Full speed ahead, the horizon was clear for all those wonderful first trimester treats like low grade abdominal cramping, all consuming tiredness and barfing you could set a clock to. It was the worst kind of practical joke, not even getting one full day of complete health before more misery. Her ribs still ached - especially when she was vomiting.

"Where is Lewis?" she demanded.

"He'll be here in an hour and we'll all go to lunch." Lewis knew about them_. _Bobby and Alex_, _their civilian personas who now spent every waking moment together. Sleeping in each others beds, running errands and sharing meals. Funny that neither one of them had cried uncle. Neither had demanded to have back all that solitude that they'd lived with respectively for over a decade. Not yet. There would be plenty of time to get sick of each other later. Or maybe they never would.

"He's bringing his new girlfriend?" she asked again. She already knew the answer. Maybe nerves were making her ask the same question repeatedly, or maybe it was early stage baby brain.

"For the fourth time yes. He's bring his girl and I'm bringing mine." _**Ohhhhh,** _she tingled, _**maybe that's why I keep asking him. **_Of course he said while staring lovingly into the eyes or was that gaskets of a classic Chevy.

"Jessica?"

"Right Jessica." Bobby confirmed, he had told Lewis about their relationship. He and Alex had agreed that _someone_ needed to know. It was as if they were living in a folie a deux, a delusion of two. It didn't feel fully realized. Relationships weren't islands, they should be about connection not isolation.

"By the time we do the last two and a half rows it'll be time to meet up." he said and she looked at the evenly spaced lines of cars there were at least 20 per row, multiplied by 3 to 5 minutes for about half the cars in each row… She wasn't liking this math. She felt green.

"Carry me," she joked trying to ignore her tossing tummy. This was about as close to helpless female as Alex had ever gotten and she blamed Bobby for this shift in her. He made her feel so feminine with his hulking frame and natural stoicism. He was a constant reminder of just how small she was and how playful she could be. She wasn't sure if she liked that he was turning her into a girl. But on the other hand she'd always had been playful, hadn't she? Or maybe the word was satirical.

"Careful what you ask for." he swept her up in his arms with barely any thought or effort, right there between the vintage black Ford Starliner and the concession stand. The people milling around holding pretzels and hot coffee hid their giggles.

"Okay! I was joking! Just joking, I can walk." she cried "I can walk."

"I'll bet you can." his eyes twinkling. He lowered her smoothly and gently to the ground. She felt the tip of her toes touch down, then then ball of her foot, then her firm square heel before she was fully upright. Then his hand was at the small of her back making sure she was steady and he cupped her face and kissed her forehead. She sank into it as though they were the only two people on earth.

She felt treasured.

Like something exquisite and rare.

She felt loved.

He took her hand and pulled off one of her fuzzy red mittens and then his brown glove and shoved them into his pocket. He meshed their fingers and she felt (miraculously) a bit better. He smiled and tugged and they continued on their automotive adventure.

* * *

"Detective Alex." Lewis said, in that way only he could, a bit of a drawl and just a pinch of letchery, even with a very interested brunette hanging on his arm taking in the whole exchange.

"Lewis." she nodded, kind of amused, as she'd always was by him. Lewis was a character.

"And the lovely Jessica." Lewis added smoothly, gesturing to his companion a reserved younger woman who shook hands with them a bit tentatively. Alex remembered a time when she'd been Lewis' only 'lovely'. For everything there was a season. And then she felt Bobby's arm come around her and she leaned back into his chest remembering that this was their autumn (and winter and spring and summer).

"So you two have finally given in to the dark side." Lewis observed irreverently "Looks like you've been doing this for years." Alex felt her face warm. "You haven't have you?" he added cheekily, because he was observing something Alex knew too well, Bobby could _not stop_ touching her. And the real struggle came inside the walls of 1PP where Alex found it so hard not to give in. She couldn't count the number of times she'd turned away from his extended hand or warm body in the squad room, the cafeteria, the elevator, his fingers were like a force of nature. In small panicky moments she wondered who had seen, who was already suspicious despite her best efforts. Hannah? Jeffries?

"No." Bobby said simply.

"Well I always knew that this would happen. You two." He glanced at Jessica. "These two were meant for each other."

"Okay you romantic fool." Bobby tamped his friend's natural optimism.

Lunch was at a nearby bistro called 'The 44'. The restaurant had a thin noon hour crowd, so the quartet was seated easily in classic Parisian cane backed, bentwood chairs. Water glasses and bread bowls filled almost immediately. Before drinks were ordered Alex made a sly decision to excuse herself to the ladies room. She came back to find the whole table erupting in ruckus laughter. The conversation between Bobby and Lewis was unchecked. Alex had never heard him speak with such abandon (without a case file or a medical examiner in the vicinity). Of course she talked to him all the time, but this was comfortable. This was like an old pair of jeans. This is what she imagined it would be like to see him with a loving brother. This was Bobby with family.

"Tell me again how you two met." Alex asked sipping a virgin cocktail, she'd ordered it directly at the bar on her way back to the table, her master plan. It wouldn't do to start a round of speculation. _**Alex isn't drinking.**_ She waited patiently for one of the men to answer her question. She'd heard Bobby's abbreviated version of the tale of how he'd met his best friend, but Bobby was a cop he played_ everything_ conservative. Lewis was a wildcard. He had an inappropriate honesty that Alex really wanted to tap into.

"Yeah L," Jessica piped up "I want to hear this too." His girlfriend called him L. Bobby moved fitfully in his chair, then twisted his neck back awkwardly toward Alex. His look was comically stressed and she read it: **_e-w-i-s. Spells Lewis._** It was all she could do to hold back the laughter.

"I think your story about meeting Jessica might be a more interesting." Bobby suggested and his friend waved him off immediately.

"Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, she runs the desk at the shop. Our eyes met over a pile of autograde hex screws."

"Ah. True romance."

Without hesitation he continued "But Bobby and I, we met behind the dumpster at the local veteran's centre." Lewis started with a bang. _This_ was what Alex wanted. "He was smoking pot and I joined him for a toke." Alex couldn't stop the machine gun burst of laughter. Bobby squirmed and she felt him clenching her knee which was where his hand rested, always on her, of course.

"You say it like that! Without any back story." he crowed.

"What back story? Oh you mean like it was your first time in Uncle Sam's Hotbox? That's what we called it, yeah it was his first time. There were some really seasoned potheads there but Bobby was always more of an academic."

Goren turned to Eames "I was there doing a project, interviewing a veteran. I left through the back and stumbled onto this secret world." he said feeling the need to let her know, to save his reputation with her. She was the last person to judge, the drugs she'd done in her teens would curl (no, uncurl) his hair.

"Yeah he was a real Mr. Good back then." Lewis added. "Still is I guess, pretty moral, if you can overlook his authority issues." Alex pressed the side of her face into Bobby's arm almost giddy with the frank third person assessment of him.

"Thanks Lewis." he held up his beer, in a mocking toast.

"I just call it like I see it bro." he smiled "Anyway I was a regular. Not a pothead exactly, but my crowd hung there and I'd seen Bobby around, hard to miss a 6 foot 4 sophomore. He was always leaning against some locker reading or coming out of the library and I decided to corrupt him."

"So you two met getting high." Alex reiterated like they were questioning a suspect, like she just wanted to confirm the facts. Bobby's sanitized version of this story had been more like, they'd met on a smoke break outside school.

"As a kite!" Lewis added enthusiastically.

"Don't listen to this guy ladies." Bobby tried to be the voice of reason. "It was just once. It's not like I gave it all up to live behind a dumpster." he took a long draw on his drink and slung and arm across the back of Alex's chair toying with her blond locks a little. "In fact that was the day I decided I would join the army." he added quickly "Because… Talking to that veteran… N-not smoking up."

"So that was, like, your moment." Alex said in a less then articulate way.

"What do you mean?" he focused all his energy on her.

"That was the day that changed the whole course of your life." They both considered a Bobby without his service, Declan, profiling, Lewis. And he knew she was right. **_You could have gone either way._** That day he'd decided to go the right way.

"We were pretty much inseparable after that." Lewis hammered on oblivious. "Something clicked. I'm the yin to his yang."

"You hippy." Bobby said looking at Lewis affectionately and Alex fell even more deeply in love.


	42. Chapter 42

"Are those the only reasons?"

"Are what the only reasons for what?" she asked confused.

He was doing it again. Throwing out half formed thoughts and assuming that she was a mind reader. It was Sunday evening. He wanted to watch Full Metal Jacket and she wanted to watch a serial drama on Netflix (a show that had sucked her in a month ago) full of mystery and intrigue and politics. It was a hard sell. Bobby was a military buff and this war flick classic was his go-to. He didn't have cable anymore, only a pile of DVDs, their cases worn and soft from handling. She'd accused him of being a dinosaur.

"Keep up with the times." she cracked.

"You'll have to pry paper books and DVD's from my cold dead hands." He stood up grabbed a book off the end table and pressed it to his chest looking off into the middle distance. And for a second he_ was_ Moses. She had giggled. Yes Alexandra Eames could giggle and Robert Goren could be pretty silly.

"We'll have to watch on that tiny screen." He groused, "And you'll have to spend a long time catching me up on what I've missed, the whole first season."

From the kitchen she smiled over her shoulder pouring two tall glasses of cranberry juice and said,"You're worth it baby." She was funny and sexy all at once. Then they were on his couch together. They spent 3/4 of their time at her place, 1/4 at his. He said he preferred her house, it was glowey and inviting and smelled like her. She'd been secretly pleased at that. But here at his low rise in Midwood it was quiet and masculine. They mostly cuddled, while she surfed and he read. Sometimes they worked, but Alex had become a real advocate of leaving work at work, even if it gave them precious little to say to each other.

And right now, in the battle of the shows, she had him where she wanted him. She was using her wiles, a little sexual manipulation to elicit that coveted **_yes_**. She slipped her hand under his shirt softly scraping her nails over his stomach, pushing her body closer.

"Stop wiggling against me. I know your game." he said, distracted because it was working (although he still clutched his movie).

"What game?" she said innocence personified, edging onto his lap, moving against his growing, hardening 'surrender.'

He growled and cinched her sides. "That's sexual warfare." he accused.

"Since I've satisfied your need for warfare" she moved her bottom, "Let's just put this away." she took the film from his hand and flung it across the room.

He laughed at her antics. "Okay. You win."

She leaned forward and snatched her bag off the floor sliding out the large silver laptop. It was hard to ignore the way he was holding her tight to his lap.

"Are those the only reasons?" He abruptly went back to the cryptic question he'd asked ages ago. "The only reasons that you don't want to keep the baby?"

Her blood ran cold, she turned slightly. "You can't just pick up a 5 day old conversation like that."

"Yes I can."

She sighed balancing the computer on her knee opening it and adjusting the angle of the screen. She couldn't see his face, he was behind her. And that made it easier actually. "You're right, you can do _whatever you like_ Detective Goren…" she brought her hand suggestively to his thigh.

"Oh no you don't." He clapped his hand over hers. "Is it only about age and finances?"

"I don't want to fight Bobby." the sexy drained right out of her.

"We aren't fighting. The opposite actually." he said, swivelling with her and depositing her on the couch between his thighs. He drew his socked feet up along the leather sofa, bending his knees, the valley of his legs going from minimum to maximum security, imprisioning her.

"This conversation always goes south really fast."

"Because I'm waiting for you to decide."he admitted. He felt powerless.

"I'm not doing this to be a bitch. Or to torture you." she sort of pled with him. "I just don't know. I genuinely don't know if…" she paused, "If I can deal with this much change right now."

"I can help." he said quietly, "You won't have to be alone."

And she thought **_this is the first time_**. The first time he'd actually implied that he might stay, stay and be a father. Alex didn't think the worst of Bobby. She knew him to be loyal and dedicated, she'd watched him give everything to the job and he was as reliable as sunrise. But they'd both been alone a long time. They hadn't even fully gotten used to _each other_, let alone this earth shaker of a life change. A baby. It still blew her mind. And Bobby wasn't used to the demands of family. Normal family. His family had been like a screeching squadron of kamikaze planes plummeting toward him. Their demands had been unexpected, intense, explosive and devastating. Real family was more like a slow and constant burn. Sometimes glowing on the edges, other times blazing in the centre. Real family was full of needs and overflowing with opinions and love - love, both tender and claustrophobic. Alex knew that Bobby didn't understand the emotional and mental sacrifice a child required. And she wasn't an expert either, but she had a better idea then he did.

"You're a good man Bobby." she said, not in response, just in general. She let her head rest back against his chest. Her tense muscles unwound, she felt the warm pulsing force of him seep into her skin, into her soul. She just wanted him to know that her indecision had nothing to do with his worth or his fundamental goodness. He was the best person she knew.

"Well tell me about the appointment then."

"Should we talk about it? Should we make it real? Because if it's real…"

"It'll be harder to let go." he filled in her blank and felt her nod, the fine rub of her hair against his sweater. A sadness welled up in him and when he felt sad he usually came out swinging. It was a coping mechanism, maybe to stop tears. But today he didn't want to fight either. He wanted to feel her calm moderate weight on him. He wanted to tuck her hair around her ear. He wanted to smell her fruity shampoo and be transported by it. If he dug, if he bit, she would run and he'd be all alone on this cold November evening. It was alarming how much he needed this woman. But all his turbulent emotions aside in a very neutral way he was just curious. He wanted to know what was happening inside her flat secretive tummy. He was curious as the father and he was curious as a born fact finder about the whole mysterious biological process, his sperm her egg… Wow. Just wow.

"I promise not to get attached." he said. **_To anything but you._**

"Uh…" she expelled a great breath "Okay." and he knew she was rubbing her forehead even though his eyes were closed. "What do you want to know?"

"Well the name of your doctor would be a start." she turned slightly so that she could rest her cheek on his chest.

"Dr. McFadden. Erica McFadden."

"What did she say?"

"Well the appointment was about 4 weeks early. But she agreed to see me because of the injury and my age. Actually it was a lot like therapy."

"Why do you say that?" his voice was very subdued and even, like she was a skittish horse.

"Well I peed in a cup, had blood drawn, then a pap. But mostly we talked, about my options, concerns, my risks." It'd been heavy. Alex taken a break from her heavy murder case, to go to a heavy doctors appointment and now after another work day she was having a heavy conversation with Bobby. Was it any wonder she was in a bad headspace about this pregnancy. She shivered a little.

"Cold?" he asked misinterpreting the shiver and wrapping heavy arms around her. She didn't correct him. In fact, she suddenly felt very tired and he was the perfect pillow. She yawned.

"No, just tired. Always tired."

"What are the risks?"

"Initially, there's an increased risk of miscarriage until the second trimester. Then," she yawned again "chromosomal disorders because of our ages." she'd almost forgotten "And I had to fill out this form with a section about our family histories, genetic illnesses. I did my best for you I wrote what I remembered, but with me alone there's hypertension, stroke and heart disease.

"Schizophrenia, cancer…" he sighed like he was carrying the weight of ten worlds.

"Right. I remembered both of those." she looked up at the underside of his chin. "It was an hour and forty five minutes of thinking about all my worst nightmares."

"I'm sorry" he said because he felt the need to, he'd brought this on her. He always saw Eames in his mind's eye as a thin solitary figure walking, head low, into the gales of life. But they were different, she was solitary by choice he was an orphan.

"Don't be sorry. I'm not."

"You're not?" That surprised him.

"Well maybe a little." She smiled, "But if I took back this one thing, I'd have to take back all of it. And I love you Bobby." She'd started telling him that all the time, almost like she was trying to make up for the love he hadn't had, almost like she was trying to break him - like a stallion - only once he was broken he wouldn't be penned, he'd be free, free to give and receive from his heart.

"Yeah." he said, "No take backs. Ever." and he kissed the top of her head. "Tell me everything, what were your concerns, at the appointment."

"Doctor patient confidentiality?" she suggested lightly, she knew that wasn't going to fly.

"Try again." he squeezed her playfully.

"I told her I was concerned about my age of course, but also about my lifestyle - danger, violence, bad hours and it was especially relevant since she saw the bruises."

"Uh huh."

"I told her I was concerned about having a healthy child."

"Uh huh."

"I told her I was concerned about being a single mother."

"But you aren't single."

"I'm not married either. I'm in limbo."

"I won't leave you."

"You might not have a choice. I've been left before and he didn't want to go."

"I'm coming up on retirement."

She pulled away, far away to look into his eyes, "Didn't we almost have a fist fight because you said you'd never retire?"

"I meant I'll never be a man of leisure, but I'll get some desk job or I'll join the regular sector and have a regular life expectancy."

"Oh."

"Yeah oh." he pulled her back into him. "Is that enough of a promise for you?"

"Mmmph."she mumbled into the cotton knit of his chest. She didn't want to answer because it _wasn't_ enough. He could say anything, anything at all, what did it really mean? She knew he meant well, but there were plans and then there was life. This baby inside her was for life. Unless she…

"What did you say?"

"I said maybe."A non-committal lie.

"Don't you trust me?"

"With my life," she didn't hesitate.

"And with this life too?" he let his hand rest on her abdomen. "Trust me." he urged.

"Bobby stop." his kindness was making her confused, making her dream about happily ever afters. "Let's just watch an episode and go to bed."

"Will you think about what I said?" he asked.

"I'll hardly think of anything else."

He leaned down and kissed her. And she poured her heart into it. "You mean so much to me Alex." he whispered

"I love you." she said.

There was something in his eyes and she was sure something was fighting to get past his lips. But instead he nodded and reached low for the laptop. And she didn't remember anything about the episode, just the comfort of his embrace and then the red hot beeeeeeep of the alarm clock at 6am.

* * *

They were fixated on their list. None of their hand selected suspects seemed to distinguish themselves from the others. It had occurred to Alex (about once every ten minutes) that they could go to Rikers and try and pry it out of Mayford. Spare the hunt. But that was a pandoras box that she would only open as a last resort. She was ready now (3 weeks to later) to heed Bobby and use good old fashioned detecting to find their accomplice. She remembered how feisty she'd been that day when they'd sat in the office over chinese food and case files. She remembered how militant she'd been insisting she'd do whatever it took to find Sikes. It felt like three years ago not 3 weeks. Their knock down drag out fights, the illicit sex, Garrett Sikes, her pregnancy. Everything was so different now. And yes, she was well aware that she was valuing her relationship with Bobby over the case. A thought that made her both endlessly guilty and ridiculously happy.

Besides, Alex was no fool, she already knew how it would go. Mayford wouldn't say a word to her until she honoured her word. And as Bobby had so elegantly and tactful put it, she had promised to sit on his dick. She'd painted herself into quite the corner. She didn't even think she could do it, let him touch her. Not even if he offered her the whole shebang - all the players, all the proceeds and a big red _CASE_ _CLOSED_ stamped on their many _many_ bankers boxes of files and evidence. She didn't want a killers hands on her pregnant body because suddenly it seemed like sacrilege.

No.

This, right here, she picked up Chris Balkers DOT file, was all the help they were going to get.

Leg work.

Carpal tunnel.

Crossed eyes.

Sore necks.

But not Tyler Mayford. No. Not him.

"I'm getting a sinking feeling that we've stumbled onto a group of the most unremarkable people… " she whined leaning back in her chair.

"Maybe not." he said in his intriguing way.

"What have you got?" she perked up.

"Well look here. Paul Culpepper born in Scranton Pennsylvania. On his written interview," he flipped through the staple bound pages "the psychological portion he talks about being accidentally left in a 'car park' as his most terrifying childhood memory. That tells me he spent time in the UK during his formative years.

"Wait." She grabbed a file, "Mayford did a stint in an English boarding school. In fact he went to 3 separate schools - bit of problem child - College Alpin Beau Soleil, in Switzerland, for 6 months, one in D.C, St. Albans for almost a year. By far the longest was Malborough College in Wiltshire, England. He spent 2 years there from ages 13 to 15." She looked up counting "1984 through 86." she glowed.

"Maybe it was his _friendships_ that made Malborough so bearable." He waggled his eyebrows in fun, to celebrate their small victory with a little silliness. She smiled, he was bringing a little of Bobby to Goren, a little home to work. They went back to companionable silence until she broke it.

"City-bike. I've been researching." Eames opened a bookmark on her computer grabbing Goren's eye. "This is the quick and dirty. There are 330 stations across Brooklyn, Manhattan and Queens and those hold 6,000 bikes on roll out, soon to reach 10,000 bikes when the program hits capacity."

"10,000." Bobby let the immense number roll around on his tongue factoring the potential with such a number.

"Well," she clicked another link, "as we know from Jane any citizen can borrow a bike at any station in the three boroughs. The company tracks each customer by credit or debit card - used either in person or online. The purchase isn't actually for a bike it's for a fob that opens one lock and stays with the rider until contract is over." She paused to be sure she wasn't talking her herself. She wasn't, he was deep in thought. Fingers tented, eyes fixed on her.

"There's something called rebalancing. Since renters can borrow and return a bike at any station the host company..." she scanned the page "Alma Bike Share, has to redistribute the bikes to make sure each station is stocked daily. The bikes move around frequently."

"I'm not sure what the benefit of theft would be," Bobby started thinking aloud "it says that the bikes have been manufactured from single use parts so no resale value."

"Yeah and more then that, each unit weighs over 50lbs. They're completely unwieldy many struggled to lift the bikes in and out of their docks. I've been working the message board, social media circuit, trying to get a feel for the experience and the opinions of the end user. The first round of complaints had to do dodgy docking stations - not accepting and releasing bikes, then with faulty fobs, then erroneous charges. Some people just gave up and opted not to ride because they were so frustrated."

"All of those issues theft deterrents."

"Yeah big ones. So where is the gain in going after these bikes?"

"Maybe internationally?" he ventured.

"Don't say it." she slammed her hands over her ears.

"Selling them internationally." he said again smiling, more loudly.

"Ugh…" Alex groaned "The Feds."**_ Please stay local. Please stay local. Please stay local. _**

"Or could be software not hardware. A system hack?"

"There's a lot of sensitive information there."

"Credit card information."

"A GPS tracking system on each bike."

And he was off. before they could continue their little brainstorming session he'd spun around and popped up out of his seat. Leaving her with her mouth ajar mid thought and staring at his spinning empty chair. Then he came back as if realizing he'd lost his manners.

"I - I need to check something. Records."

Then he was off again.

* * *

The glances they kept giving each other could melt something.

Now that their little murder had morphed into an major criminal venture, it had grabbed more then just the attention of the city's soccer moms. Details of the case were now holding court with the Chief of D's, the commissioner, even the mayor. And mostly because they had unearthed proof of a sinister hack. The kind made the city look internationally ridiculous, the kind that warned off citizen customers and the kind that ended fledgling multi-million dollar public/private partnership corporations.

Bobby had played a hunch, leaving abruptly to delve into Jane Walston's credit card records. As it turned out no suspicious activity reports existed on her card, but there were overages billed for a late return to the Albany Street docking station. The station nearest their crime scene. And that same station, were Jane had returned her bike and fob. It had been glitchy all day, working for some customers and not others. Bobby's hunch was that the general chaos of the program launch and overloaded call centre lines, had camoflagued a complaint pattern.

And Bobby loved his patterns.

But the pattern was just speculation it needed corroboration. They had promptly subpoenaed Alma Bike Share. For the names of all the users of that Albany Street dock on the day of the murder, October 21. And every single customer had been billed for overages whether legitimately or not. Goren and Eames didn't know exactly what it meant yet but they knew it was significant.

Presently they were at their desks watching Hannah through all of his windows. He was in a sit down with the Chief. But ever so often Eames and Goren let their hot eyes came back to one another this case, the energy, the media frenzy was kind of sexual. It felt dynamic, like they were clicking, like they were taking on the world together in a new spectacular way. And their obsession (with each other) was reaching astronomical proportions. Feeling a rise in his pants Goren wondered if maybe the janitorial closet or a bathroom stall might suffice. Just a quickie, just to ease this ache. He looked at her again, she was running her fingers through her hair.

His breath quickened. He was about to set a precedent. First detective to fantasize himself to orgasm right in the middle of the squad room. He didn't understand how these sensations could be so powerful. So unignorable. She had bewitched him. He was sure of it.

"Goren! Eames!" Hannah bellowed just then, "In here, now!"

They stood in tandem. And he shook it off for the job. Well, for the most part. Eames looked pointedly at his binder hanging casually low in front of him, then smirked and just to be bad whispered "I'll help you out with that later."

"Don't." his voice was tight. "Get my mind off it."

As they reached the door she murmured, barely audibly "I'm so wet."

He surged against the folio at that.**_ Bitch! Sexy bitch._** So this was how it felt to be at the whim of a woman. To follow her on an invisible leash. He'd made them beg. But he'd never been a lap dog. It was simultaneously erotic and uncomfortable wanting her this way. And they didn't have any boundaries. They'd discussed having them, at work. Then decided not to. The job was the job, all consuming and then in the next moment down right boring and repetitious.

Why not play a little during the doldrums?

_**Why not suffer a little, more like.**_

He took a deep breath and followed her sweet ass into a very serious meeting.


	43. Chapter 43

The new Chief of Detectives, Chief Michael Dupuis was a bear of a man. He was a lot like Moran in his presentation, average height, robust through shoulder, chest and hips, he was greying and carried himself with that over-abundance of authority that was so common in NYPD higher ups. People who knew him might call him unrepentant, unrelenting and unflinching. It was easy to be put off by the affect of such a man, especially for someone like Bobby. This was the type of man that pushed all of his buttons. Bobby responded to intelligence, softness, humour and humility there was none of that here.

Even though he was taller then the chief and an authority in his own field Bobby felt uncomfortable in the room with him. The kind of discomfort that came from knowing that his reputation preceded him, knowing that there was already a section of Dupuis' brain marked 'Troublemakers' and a subsection with a picture of Goren. They'd only met once before. Shortly after Chief Dupuis had been sworn in he'd made it his business (an ambitious goal) to make the rounds of all the precincts. Major Case had been the first stop. They'd shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. And now here they were again, face to face with a common interest, 'the Walston case' since upgraded? tweaked? to the title of 'Davisville Bike Ring'.

The detectives entered Hannah's grey office and didn't sit. They also didn't need to give a briefing it had all been done. They were here to account for themselves.

The Chief charged in. "What I don't understand is the laser focus with which Major Case seems to have seized on the city-bike program." Clearly everyone was getting heat. And clearly Chief Dupuis had been dispatched to neutralize a couple of over eager detectives.

"With all due respect Chief we're following the evidence." Alex informed him.

And Bobby added with a little less then all due respect, "Sir we're Major Case not house dicks. We weren't in that chop shop looking for a ten speed. We were hunting a killer. And we aren't distracted by minutiae. The game changer was finding Department of Transportation proprietary tools and information." his voice was clipped. He was a little annoyed by this Monday morning quarterbacking. The man came in and suddenly 3 weeks of strong detective work were null, not a word about Eames' injuries and her clear dedication to service, all he could see was the 3 _days_ they'd spent the gathering information on city's latest pet project, the bike share. What about Jane? What about the all the man hours?_** Typical brass.**_

"We know a million dollars in pinched bikes is nothing to sniff at," Eames smoothed the edges, giving Bobby a look, "But the city-bike connection was the real break."

The captain played mediator, "Of course at Major Case we're sensitive to the repercussions of our actions. And we appreciate the stakes. But we already had a Department of Transportation employee cooling at Rikers for murder, not a stretch that he might have a nefarious plan or that it would involve the city."

The Chief puffed a little, "There's more corruption in the DOT." he stated more then asked.

"We believe so." Eames added " We're in a process of elimination right now but we're closing in on the accomplice."

The Chief turned and stared Goren down. It was the first time their eyes had met and now Goren wondered if he'd misread the man. Sure there was bluster, but now Bobby was also sensing a great deal of appreciation for the dilemma the case presented. And further Goren saw in the man a need for reassurance, reassurance he seemed to believe could only come from the tall, disaffected detective before him. The implied respect heartened Goren in a way little had before, and when he spoke his words had a measured, genuine ring.

"We played a hunch and the evidence bore it out. There was some kind of software 'intrusion' on October 21, 2013. And we believe it coincided with the inaugural week of the city-bike program. Smart timing, launches are naturally full of bugs and misstarts, it hid the fraud. We have no reason to believe that the program was corrupted. We caught a major player not long after he - uh - they - completed the test run. And," Goren paused for effect, "We are coming to believe that our victim Jane Walston didn't just fall prey to a sexual deviant as first suspected. We think she may have been a casualty of the test run. We think, for lack of a better term that Jane Walston was Patient 0."

He and Eames had come up with that theory over the course of the day. And it was complete conjecture, rolled up in a lot of dramatic effect. But it was the kind of big idea that went over well in a room like this. It was also the kind of theory that sealed so many cracks and just felt right. Goren was sure the evidence would eventually back it up, but they had a lot more investigating do.

"So I can take this to the mayor? The city-bike program has _not_ been compromised." Dupuis had a one track mind.

Goren and Eames looked at each other. The Chief dealt in absolutes. The detectives knew that an _absolute_ always came before the fall. They were reluctant to give him that confirmation. Hannah sensed that energy in the room and piped up.

"The press has already been told that the misbillings can be attributed to finding our bike share _sea legs_, so to speak." Goren privately rolled his eyes, had the man ever met an idiom he didn't use? "The best course would be to placate the overcharged users - reimbursement or maybe free further services? I'm sure that's already in the works." he smiled. "I think we'll find that we can eventually sell this as a rogue civil servant and downplay any hysteria."

* * *

Bobby lay on his bed. His long legs tangled together, his suit pants twisting and pleating in bad ways. He always came home and took care of his clothing. As a matter of habit he hung his pants (folded to the crease), he rolled his ties, sometimes he even steamed his jackets in the bathroom. His was the life of the single male. He could dedicate himself to the details of good grooming that might escape his fellow harried married men. But tonight he'd come in, tossed down his badge and gun and keys and made a beeline for the bedroom and promptly thrown himself down onto the firm creaky mattress.

He looked around his bedroom. The utilitarian roller shades, a heavy gauge poly-plastic, to block out morning light on those rare days he could sleep in. Then his eyes drifted to the Eames lounge chair in the corner draped in his sweats. He'd taken great pleasure in telling Alex that a part of her had been in his bedroom for years. Her namesake the iconic chair designed by Charles and Ray Eames. Bobby liked pieces of furniture with history and vintage. He didn't have much design sense but he searched for meaning in everything he did. And it'd been quite a find on Craigslist, sitting in an old man's shag carpeted rec room, only one tiny crack in the leather. He'd gotten the chair for a song. His eyes moved to the dresser he'd found at the Goodwill, it was vintage mid-century modern and then to the bookcases flanking his bed they had been an evenings assembly work after a trip to the Ikea in Red Hook, the bookcases didn't matter after all, it was the rows and rows of books on them that thrilled him.

This was the first time in a week that he'd been in his own home alone and he didn't like it. When had facing the world alone become unbearable? He'd be alone since he'd shuffled onto this mortal coil. Now 51 years later he was finally ready to admit that loneliness wasn't decadent it was real and it was gripping his heart right now.

Eames.

Alex.

Alexandra.

He was addicted to her. He couldn't purge her from his mind. His hand drifted south. And then it was at his belt and then unhooking and unzipping and then _**ahhhhhh**_. This always happened when he thought of her. His hands went _there_. His mind went _there_. She was like nothing he'd ever experienced. She was smart, she was sharp, she was hard and yet so _so_ soft. He imagined her. She always put her arms around him, always put her body around him. He tightened his grip and moaned a little, using his other hand to shove his briefs out of the way, letting them bunch haphazardly revealing a bit of hip, and a lot of cock. She was so beautiful. How in the fuck had he gone so long and not realized how God damn gorgeous she was? His hand worked hard, gripping and pulling, his feelings weren't delicate and neither was his erection. And then in no time it was over, a few short sharp tugs and he saw the white residue on his $300 dollar pants.

"Oh shit!" (he actually said that aloud). Imagine, pleasuring himself alone like a highschooler, spewing everywhere like a kid. Now he knew he was losing it. He jumped up and moved quickly to the bathroom.

As he washed and desperately dabbed at his 'dry clean only' wear, his hands moved over the fabric but his mind was still locked on Alex. His Alex. He supposed to some extent he had always craved her. But he had never admitted it was more then professional admiration. "Complimentary skill sets" he'd pulled that one out and dusted it off more then once. But maybe his irrational need to work with _only_ her, his utter certainty that _only_ she would understand had masked something else.

Goren and Eames. Dynamic duo. They had always loved each other, that he admitted. And it was love in the truest sense of the word. Not infatuation. Not lust. They were loyal, dutiful, they respected each other, they listened to one another and they trusted each other. But suddenly it was as though he'd been sleeping. Suddenly she was a woman. Suddenly he couldn't tear his eyes or his hands away from her her toned body, the curve of her breast, her long honey blond hair, her incredibly small waist. He was hard all the time.

This was lust.

_This_ was the missing part of their equation.

She had changed. She was sexier. She was more self aware. She was trying new things. But he had changed more. As twisted and as insane as he had become, Declan had one thing right, his dysfunctional family and unhealthy associations were hold him back, ruining him,_ aging him._ When he'd been 'liberated' from them all of them (His mom, Frank, Nicole, Declan, even Jo) it had spun him, demolished him and haunted him in the middle night. But it had brought something else a journey toward clarity. What motivated Robert Goren? Who was he? What did he really need? What did he really want?

Bobby realised he had grown up, but he had grown imbalanced. He was so needy. Looking back he couldn't remember a time when he hadn't yearned for something. Something denied him in his formative years. He'd filled the hole with a myriad of vices: alcohol, food, cigarettes, women. But also with assets, like experience, travel and books. Autodidact, yes he was a bonafide autodidact. He'd worked at developing and honing his skills, consuming information, learning languages, studying human psychology and observing human nature. It hadn't been hard. Bobby knew he'd been watching people all his life. He'd been a student of human frailty from the moment he was born, his family being such fertile ground.

And apparently he was brilliant. His IQ (of course he'd checked, he had to know afterall) put him firmly in the 'exceptionally gifted' category a true mensa candidate. His EQ was another story, probably poor to middling at best. He believed he was completely emotionally stunted.

And then Paula Gyson. The therapy had been mandatory but in retrospect totally serendipitous. He had turned a corner during that year off. But he'd known he could only go so far on his own. He might of muddled along forever half-healed if she hadn't shown up with her NYPD mandate just when he needed it. He could admit it, he had been attracted to his shrink, a little bit. She was appealing and an enigma, which was like waving a red flag in front of a man like him. And it had proved a barrier at first. He couldn't talk to her and desire her simultaneously, he didn't know how to balance that. So he'd been hard and evasive. But he wasn't intrigued anymore because things between them had gotten real. She had broken through one day and almost brought him to tears, she had pried out handful after handful of dark secrets, and she had gotten him yelling, gesticulating and then running away in a crazy display of fear.

Gyson had done him a major favour. He'd lived half a century and no one had breached the barriers she had. She had punched through his conceptions and walls. She had challenged the line he had been feeding himself about who he was, about who Eames was, about what they were together. Left to his own devices he might have ignored his feelings indefinitely because he didn't really trust his emotional judgement in matters of Robert Goren. Gyson was helping him work on all that - trust, anger management, emotional honesty - once every 2 weeks like clockwork, even now. And it was his choice and his bill. He was covered by his health plan, but only 80% and she wasn't cheap. His mandatory comped sessions had dried up ages ago. But Bobby knew they were doing good important work together. And now he knew he needed to be a whole man for Alex. His Alex.

He remembered the pivotal session so clearly, almost 8 months ago now. In retrospect it had been more a caress then a slap. The very second it had dawned on him that Eames, this woman this person so integral to every part of his life, this woman he told himself was just one of the guys, a colleague, wasn't. _She wasn't._

How long had he fought this?

How long had he been in denial?

How many years has he wanted her?

How long had it taken before a little therapy managed to crack that steel trap he called a head?

Well now his mind was open. Wide open. Gaping even. His shingle out: Possibilities Welcome. And with that decision, a whirlwind. **_A fucking whirlwind._** He had kissed her, then pursued her, then played her (just a little) and then it had happened. He had carnal knowledge of Eames. His addiction locked into place. And he'd been thinking they might have a little fun before making any big decisions.

But he should have known. He wasn't middle management, he wasn't living in a suburban fairytale, he wasn't fluffy or floaty or light. He was Robert O. Goren and his life was _always_ all or nothing. **_BAM!_** Garrett Sikes. **_Vicious animal_**. That was the exact moment he'd known, sitting beside her in that ambulance, petrified. It had washed over him, a very familiar sensation, the same sensation he'd had sitting in a dark empty hospital room surrounded by boxes that smelled like a mix of antiseptic and his mothers hand lotion. It was the same sensation he'd had when he'd stood in a dirty alleyway over a white sheet that was formerly his brother. In matters of life and death (Eames', his own) his plans were inconsequential and irrelevant. _There was no time_. That was when he decided he was all in. He wasn't going to bury someone else he loved with regrets.

**_Loved?_**

**_LOVE._**

He loved her.

He loved her like a man did a woman. Like a man did the mother of his child. Like a husband did his wife. _**WHOA!**_ He looked into the mirror with white noise of the the bathroom tap still running in the background. He looked deep into his own eyes. Was that where he wanted this to go? He looked at himself so hard he lost all sense of his face. Random floating parts. A stranger.

Maybe they needed to talk about it. **_Marriage._**

Maybe she wouldn't consider it. **_She's been there._**

But no, maybe they needed to talk about it. **_She might decide to try again, with me._**


	44. Chapter 44

They were sitting in her car outside her brother Will's 3 storey townhome in Park Slope. Neither of them inclined to go in just yet, staring quietly at the gated front walkway though the windows of her Honda. It was very impressive home with a well appointed interior and it was a standout even in this affluent family oriented part of Brooklyn. There were good schools here by the bucketload. And children danced and skipped along holding onto their parents hands kicking at piles of browning leaves. All in all, an idyllic way to give thanks on this late autumn afternoon.

The Eames family didn't even bother to draw lots for the holidays anymore, only Liz and Will had homes that could accommodate their swelling numbers for a sit down meal. Once (the great fiasco of 2004) they'd decided to try a restaurant and half of the family had ended up going to the wrong location which, knock on effect, had resulted in their losing their reservation. No, no more of that, just home cooked potluck meals - the location alternating yearly.

Unfortunately internal conditions weren't half as ideal. Bobby's stomach was seizing and releasing in a most uncomfortable way. They'd been together in this situation (about to join an Eames family gathering) many times prior to today. They'd even sat in this exact spot (against the curb in front to Will's house) in anticipation of this exact celebration (Thanksgiving). But never quite like this. Never as the pin at the centre of a pinwheel of deceit. That was why he felt green. It was from watching the vomit inducing spin of the vanes, from watching the mesmerising pattern of lies drawn on them. And it was from anticipating the spray of blood and guts that would occur when someone (probably someone without a filter like Nathan) got too close to the truth. Bobby imagined the horrific moment in technicolour,

"Uncle Bobby why are you holding Auntie Alex's hand?"

Or stroking her thigh, or patting her bum...

It could be any unguarded moment when he'd find himself behaving like a boyfriend and not a partner. He should be used to this, he suppressed his urges everyday at work, but according to Alex he wasn't as good as he thought he was. As she put it, "I cover your ass all the time.**_" _**Apparently she'd been turning from embraces and knocking back his loving touches round the clock. He grimaced at the thought. And here, today, her family knew she was pregnant which raised the stakes. One false move and he'd be getting the 'what are your intentions' speech. Not that he was afraid of being forced on Eames at the point of a shotgun. He couldn't be forced into something he really wanted. No, he was just afraid of the spectacle. **_A___****nd** of Johnny Eames. Even at age 74, even now that the patriarch preferred sitting to standing and he wasn't half as sharp as he'd once been, he was still a force. Somehow Bobby just knew a little of the old Johnny would make a cameo to kick his ass. _**Or welcome you to the family**_ a more optimistic voice added, but he didn't listen to _that_ _guy_ very often.

As for Alex, he knew her family annoyed her to no end, because they loved her without bounds. Another crew might never be so presumptuous as to attack a suitor, even with the well being of a beloved sister or daughter in the balance. But this bunch was no holds barred. He liked that about them, straight shooters like his Alex, and he hated that about them. What he wouldn't give for a little WASP'y repression - complete with scotch rocks, veiled bitterness and allusions - instead of the Eames' and their scrappy Irish candour.

"Your upper lip is sweating." Alex observed in her plain-spoken fashion, drawing him back. His hand flew up to wipe it. It was dry. He shot her an annoyed look.

"Stop working me detective, yes, I'm nervous."

She smiled "I'm looking forward to this." That was the other tiny issue. **_Tiny, right._** They weren't on the same page. Alex thought they should just come clean and tell all. Bobby was worried about the repercussions. Maybe also a little worried about losing the only real family he'd ever been invited into. His post orgasmic epiphany from 2 days ago, the one about loving Alex more then life itself and wanting to marry her ASAP, was on the back burner. This holiday celebration had come out of nowhere, at least that's what he told himself. Bobby wished now that he'd screwed up his courage and talked to Alex about their relationship, and she'd said yes to his proposal, and they were heading to the altar anyway.

But he hadn't.

And they weren't.

At least not yet.

"Oh come on, they love you." she said and then more seriously. "And I love you. So none of it matters."

But it did matter, to him. He gave her a pleading look "Play a role with me for just a little while longer." He begged. "Just partners." He wanted to talk to her alone, tell her everything in his heart, not do it here here while he was all nervous and twitchy and ready to be violently ill.

Her heart sank a little. When would he come around? She was tired of waiting now. It seemed like he thwarted every step toward something real. She wanted to believe in Bobby, when they were alone together he was wonderful. Just the other night they'd decided to go home alone, to their respective beds and _God_ had she missed him. It had been a terrible physical ache. And to put it in perspective that'd been just _one_ night apart, after a _whole_ workday together. It wasn't like he was off at war or something. This was the absurdity of love.

She'd lain awake in bed haunted by this need for him. Part of her thought it was her own weak character. Part of her felt as if she were diminished as a person because she wanted him so much. And then at her darkest, neediest, sleepless hour he'd called, and there was something in his voice. And she instantly knew he was feeling the same way. With the phone pressed to her ear, she'd snuggled deeper into her mattress under her quilt and drawn her legs up into the fetal position. And he'd told her how he couldn't sleep because he missed her so much tonight. And he'd recited poetry (_poetry!_) to her, from memory, stumbling once or twice over forgotten words, but it didn't matter because he was just perfect to her. The words of greats like Millay, and Frost and Shakespeare and Marlowe, names she hadn't truly considered since college (in her mandatory literature class) but that sounded so sweet on his tongue. What did Alexandra Eames know about pentametre or tenor? Nothing. Her knowledge of the fine arts could fill a thimble. But she did know she'd fallen asleep, just that way, with his soft baritone in her ear.

Now this. What a let down. After that great moment, to meet _this_ Bobby again, the one that couldn't own up with her family, or say I love you or _just make it work. S_he despaired that it would always be this way.

"Uh, okay. Whatever you want Bobby." she acquiesced. How long it would be before she could hold his hand? Or lean into his embrace on her brothers couch? Or be public members of that coveted couples only world? Alex knew her family had been looking at her with furrowed, worried brows since 2000 (after a respectable 2 years of mourning). They all thought she should have gotten back up on that horse over a decade ago. It'd been a _long_ 12 years. But instead of sharing her longing with Bobby she quipped,"Just keep your hands off me."

Bobby grinned relief flooding him "I'll stay with the boys." he darted a glance quickly at the house for prying eyes and then pressed a soft kiss to her lips. And it didn't matter how annoyed, distressed or sad he made her, in his arms she melted like chocolate.

* * *

As promised Bobby had followed the men down to their 'cave' in the basement. Alex had only been down to that subterranean nightmare a few times, with it's pool table, leather seats and beer fridge. Not to mention the dark blue walls which were adorned with a 65 inch flatscreen and unattractive sports memorabilia displayed in large hanging shadow boxes. Alex didn't consider aesthetics all that important, but she needed basic things in a room (like natural light and air flow) so she stayed upstairs.

All family gatherings were like this, a real throw back. The 'lady folk' upstairs cooking and the men downstairs being 'manly.' But there were a few perks in the ritual. They got to send the relentless younger children down to see their fathers and uncles while the kitchen and dining room were transformed in to a well oiled cooking and prep machine. And of course after the meal the women could just get up and leave and not spare a thought for the 17 place settings, the cool unappetizing leftovers and greasy fat caked roasting pots and pans that need to be washed.

Everybody held hands for grace, they weren't a particularly religious family, but they were a thankful one nonetheless. It wasn't until well into the meal - when most plates were 3/4 empty, some sly hands were reaching for seconds and the kids table was getting really rowdy - that the questions began.

"So Bobby," Will was saying over a mouthful of Liz's signature stuffing (the secret zing, of which, came from diced apples and cranberries). "When are you going to bring a woman to one of these things." Will liked to kid. Bobby had sussed him out long ago. He was the type of person who mimicked authority very well but would dissolve into laughter after he'd gotten you good and scared.

"Probably never." Bobby answered staring hard at his plate, "I can't do that. Just start my own guest list. I think that's an etiquette no no."

"Of course you can bring a date Bobby. You aren't a guest you're family." Johnny added waving his knife a little. "If you have someone special we want to meet her. And" he squinted smiling "we want you to _want_ her to meet us."

He felt a little scummy and didn't dare meet Alex's eye as he forced out, "Well there's no one right now. I think I'm a confirmed bachelor."

"Tall, good looking guy like you." Jack piled on. "I'll bet I can find you someone." he was a married man, but women (and their unwanted adoration) were a perk of his job. If cops had buffs then firefighters had fanatics.

"I'll bet you could." Bobby just smiled noncommittally praying that he would soon stop being the focus of the entire table.

"Oh that would be good Jack." Now his eyes did fly up, Alex had said that from her seat across the table. "I think both my partner and I are in a rut." her words had a bit of bite.

Liz's eyes darted back and forth between them as did her husband Bill's. Since the last time she'd seen her sister Liz'd drawn a lot of private conclusions about what was going on with Alex. Unfortunately she had no evidence to bear out her suspicions because Alex had dropped off the face of the earth right about then. Liz knew her sister's disappearance had coincided with her injury on the job, but she suspected that it was more then that. She suspected that he sister had fallen into the abyss of an affair. And she suspected it was an affair with Bobby. Liz was a woman 14 years married, but not married so long that she couldn't remember the cliff a woman dropped off of when she found a mate. They had always been good friends, she and her sister. If Liz graphed the highs and lows of their relationship, 2 weeks without a phone call wasn't unheard of, but it was quite the statistical anomaly. "You aren't seeing anyone Alex?" she asked softly.

Alex prayed for strength. This was an uncomfortably familiar situation. Every family gathering seemed to come around to her status as a single woman. "Not right now." she got out, and boy did it hurt. She delicately used her fork to pry some marshmallow topping off of some sweet potatoes creating an orange massacre on her plate.

"Really?" the younger woman pressed.

"Really Liz." She snapped a little, "still painfully single." Painful was right, knowing that everyone was pitying her, knowing she shouldn't _have_ to be saying any of this.

"Well looks like we have another immaculate conception on our hands. Alert the press. Second coming." That was Linda. Will's wife. Alex's relationship with her had always been a little off kilter. They repeatedly found their balance and then the woman would sabotage the frail connection. This sharp joke was coming after they'd worked shoulder to shoulder prepping this grand meal (and laughed about work and life) so this was mayhem pure and simple.

Alex felt her stomach clench. No one had said the 'P' word yet (pregnant), but now here it was in all it's glory. Bobby coughed loudly an involuntary reaction to the woman's mocking words.

"Holy crap Linda you want to see my bank statements too? You want to start a conversation about politics or… wait... I guess you covered religion? Let's all get good and uncomfortable!" Alex came out swinging.

"Hey. Dial it back Ally. She was being funny." **_Oh,_** **_her devoted saviour. _**That voice belonged to her brother Will. Alex didn't bother to look for her saviour, he was too busy cowering behind a turkey leg. As always she'd have to take this battle on solo. Was she ever going to be enveloped in that kind of protective embrace?

"Well I'm not laughing." Alex shot out.

"I think we all want to know how you managed this." her father asked low and slow and with weight, turning the eyes of the everyone seated. He sat at the literal and figurative head. At the top of the rectangular table adjacent the door to the butler's pantry. Even though it wasn't his home John Eames was loved and always given deference and respect by his children. But Alex figured if he was going to charge into her personal life in such a public way he was going to get slapped.

"Managed it dad? Really? You make it sound like I'm a freak of nature. Everybody, I just want to let you all know," her eyes panned the table "that I do have lady parts."

There were a chorus of ohhhhhs and ahhhhhs. As if her statement were beyond the pale. As if they hadn't all been implying she was abnormal for the last 20 minutes (and 12 years). Bobby for his part was paralyzed by indecision. He wanted to jump in, and yet she was holding her own so nicely. He wondered if he could show solidarity without showing his hand.

"We want to know who the father is. Maybe give him a little physical incentive to treat our sister right." Jack joked and also didn't.

"This isn't the playground and we aren't 12 Jack." Alex rolled her eyes. "And this conversation is over." she tried to put an end to it, but didn't quite manage that.

It was Arianna, Jack's auburn haired, soft, pretty, and generally quiet wife that pulled her in again. "I think Alex has a lot to consider. She probably doesn't need to make any decisions during a family dinner.

"Thank you Arianna." Alex met the woman's gaze gratefully. And now that the ranker was fading and everything was at a dull roar Bobby felt safe to add something.

"Alex is strong and smart. I trust her judgement all day everyday. She'll figure this out." As endorsements went even he thought it was weak. But he was devoted to his plan to remain an observer and not a participant. He had to strike just the right note of detached harmony with his partner.

"I'm finished here." Alex didn't acknowledge his support. She just let her cutlery clatter to her plate, got up and left the room. Bobby had the sinking sensation that he was in trouble.


	45. INTERMISSION

**A/N: Sorry about any typos or glaring errors this time around. I wrote this on a hectic vacation. Should vacations be hectic? I posted in a 'now or never' type situation and missed my final read through. ****I've since tidied it up a bit. **

**I'm enjoying the slow steady character development and I hope you are too. I'll be drawing this story to a close shortly (nothing lasts forever) I've gone on longer then intended already but it does have a natural conclusion coming with the end of the case file. I'm not going to speculate about how many more chapters there will be because I'm sure I'll be wrong.**

**I've joked about doing endnotes and now think that I probably will, if it doesn't come off as too self-indulgent. In order to make the characters authentic I drew from so many episodes and incorporated so many real life references. I hoped everyone would get them, but I'm not sure I was obvious enough for that to happen. Anyway seems a fitting end (though I've never seen it done here on FF). I think those that reread and love the TV series might like to look out for little recognizable markers.**

**PS. Wrote this last chapter in a hotel on 6th Avenue (Avenue of the Americas) in NYC. I hadn't been here since I was a kid, but of course it was top of mind while creating this story so I decided to rediscover it. Unfortunately there have been no chance sightings of VDO in the crowds of thousands… Oh well, glad I'm not a betting woman… **


	46. Chapter 45

She iced him out on the car ride home and he knew he deserved it.

"Where are you going?" he asked as he watched all the wrong street signs fly by.

"Midwood." she shot him a mean look that said it all.

"I thought we were spending the night at your place?"

"Maybe we need some space."

"I don't want space." And he really _really_ didn't. He tapped his knee nervously. If anything he was feeling vulnerable, he didn't want to be alone. He wanted what he'd denied her, reassurance and affection. When it was just the two of them everything felt right again.

"Really? Could have fooled me."

"We agreed that…"

She cut him off "That you would bury your face in your dinner while I was in a knife fight? I can't believe you didn't say anything Bobby. And then afterward, where'd you go?" she'd been livid. She had combed the house looking for him, certain he was hiding from her. Then finally she'd thrown up her hands in the ultimate **_screw you_** and joined her sisters in the living room.

For his part Bobby had been avoiding her, but only a little. At first he'd tried to do his share of the after dinner clean up and immediately headed to the kitchen. But although he 'wasn't' a guest, the Eames men (and Bill who was yoked and handed a washcloth quicker then he could run) always pushed him away from the mess. So he'd been in limbo, not welcome in the kitchen, not keen on sitting with the ladies in the living room and not really wanting to return to the basement on his own. Normally he'd have caught up to Alex in the library, she liked the quiet of that room and he loved the books. Just the thought of a room full of books filled him with anticipation and bliss. But it was a uniquely miserable feeling to be an invitee who'd fallen out of favour with the inviter. He'd felt completely out of context, floating from room to room.

In his uncomfortable and worried state he had probably blown the whole thing out of proportion. He just didn't want Alex to take her dissatisfaction out on him in a public way. He was being cowardly and he knew it. He especially knew it after he'd lingered in the powder room, killing an extra 15 minutes by poking through the cabinets and reading the labels on the medicine and cleaning products. But try as he might he just couldn't get himself to man up.

In a lot of ways this scenario was much worse then fessing up to the NYPD. The NYPD was an organization. For the most part they were detached and clinical. They had processes and codes and rules. This was personal. The Eames family would look at him and see a different _man_ then they thought they knew. In their eyes he just wanted to be the loyal supporter of Alex, her crime fighting companion, her consistent co-worker of many years. Not some careless jerk that couldn't keep it in his pants.

Eventually he had made it to the library, on his own. Moving furtively and scanning the hall left and right for Alex. And he'd parked himself in there for an uninterrupted (mostly) enjoyable hour. Just like that he'd forgotten the entire world. What he wouldn't do for a library. It was the whole ritual of closing the french doors and sinking into a leather club chair and cracking open a volume of some old, bound classic. Sometimes he just held the open book under his nose and forgot to read it. It smelled like the best part his childhood, weekends at the public library in Canarsie, hiding cross legged in the small gap between the stacks and the radiator with a pile of books hemming him in on either side. Ever so often catching glimpses of his mother puttering around with a book cart, but never having to talk to her, just getting lost in the words of gifted men and women.

"I did say something." he defended himself.

"Something useful I mean." She shook her head in irritation. "I'm not an idiot Bobby. I know why you just sat there. I have the same reservations you do about going public. It'll be hard for a while. And I know that to you I'm a package deal, you alienate me, you alienate my family. And it changes us at work and then no more meals..."

Now it was his turn to cut her off, "You think I'm that down and out? You think I'm looking for free food?" he rolled his head heavenward in exasperation. "I don't want to disappoint your family! They gave me a shot. They didn't have to take me into their home. Your dad is ex PD, he knows about these things. He's been through the system, drank the kool-aid. He isn't going to open his arms wide Alex. Maybe he starts to think we weren't on the ball and that's why you got hurt. Or maybe he gives us an ultimatum, come clean with the captain or…"

"Or what? You think my dad would rat me out? His own kid?" Bobby's dad probably would have acted that way (the dad he'd known) Stanley Goren, that sad sack. Alex knew that because of his family Bobby saw the world through a lens of pain and betrayal. Jonathan Eames, would never do a thing like that.

He shrugged, "If he thinks your safety is being compromised." he continued "Or worse, maybe he treats you differently and I have to wear that! I have to walk around knowing that I damaged a great relationship."

"Bobby, my dad, he's a hardass and he made me one too." her lips quirked a bit "But he loves me. He _really_ loves me. He would never hurt me that way. Sure he might be sore about it for a while, but he'd get over it. What about his daughter having a life? A mate? What if that's more important to him? He probably half expects we're together anyway. You have to_ trust_. You have to _trust something_ Bobby." And with those words she finally got it. She had wondered and worked at and puzzled over what was going on in that head of his. And now she knew. He couldn't trust. He couldn't trust that she would stay or trust that people loved him or trust that he had intrinsic value.

"Trust." he said, "I do trust you. I've trusted you every single day for years now."

She pulled up to the curb in front of his apartment and put the car in park. "Have you? Have you really?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he felt gutted that she was questioning that after all these years.

"Well I trust you." she said, ""I trust you with my career, _every single time_ we're on a case and you say you have a plan, and there have been a lot of crazy plans over the years." She laughed dryly. "Bobby, I know how you think, _how you work_ and I have always stepped back and let you run with it, no questions asked, whatever popped into your mind. Even knowing that half the time I wouldn't be invited on the journey." She'd always respected his process because she had never doubted her value, she was integral. Robert Goren needed an external anchor, a touchstone and it was her. She didn't regret a second.

"Remember Wiznesky? Remember Borden? Remember Reynolds? You took that on didn't you? Took on the risk rather then share it. I'm grateful. You saved my life, but I've never saved yours, you've never given me the chance. With Gage, with Sikes there was no doubt in my mind that you would come through, nail whoever had hurt me." She lay a palm on his cheek to make sure he looked at her. "Honey, I trust you." Then she drew her hand back. "But _we_ aren't a case. I can't treat this relationship like a case. I can't constantly put myself second and let you go your own way."

That reminded her of all the places he'd gone that she hadn't been able to follow. As she had today, she'd felt devastated then too. Places like Carmel Ridge on that long and torturous journey with his mother, places like solitary confinement at Tates correctional, or on that subsequent four state search for his wayward nephew during his suspension. She'd cried, actually shed tears that night she'd found out he'd been undercover. The betrayal had run so deep. It had been the first time she'd truly questioned her relevance in his life. But maybe the most heart wrenching had been that year without their badges. He'd left the state, no estimated date of return, just months of open ended misery. She'd always respected his freedom. To love him was to understand that he was the embodiment of a lone wolf. He was truly by himself in the world. Bobby had never understood what it meant to have people, to walk the planet with someone in your heart and to know you were in theirs. It was a great responsibility. That was why she forgave so many of his transgressions because she knew he wasn't being selfish. He just wasn't.

"Ale…"

She silenced him. "No. You've always held yourself away. You've never let me in. I've tried to connect, get closer for years and you just didn't want it. I would be standing there beside you listening to you talk to a suspect and get sucker punched by some bit of information you'd never shared with me. You would tell them, but not me."

"To break the case." he honestly believed it.

But she shook her head. "Maybe 10 percent of time. What about the rest?"

She could see years of his unconscious behaviour becoming conscious. And all of it passed like a haze across his eyes as he continued to stare at her. She had finally met the one person he'd never profiled. Himself. The silence hung long and low until she said,

"No stakes, that's why. No chance of pain. No possibility of rejection. No judgement."

He looked so sad and it broke her heart. She didn't want to let him go. Stepping back from him was aberrant to her. But she was beginning to understand that she might have to.

"I love you." She reassured softly, not wanting to make any decisions right now, just wanting to go home alone to think. "And I'll see you at work tomorrow."

Suddenly he reached down and took her hand off her lap and pressed it to his heart. "Don't leave me." he said.

"Just for the night. Not forever." And she looked straight through him, all of his layers, and she could see the boy inside the man.

"I'm sorry. I'm trying. I want to..." he pressed his forehead to hers, "I want to be a b-better man. The words just sound so foreign… I get all anxious." he laughed shortly at his own ridiculousness. Even this small bit of honesty was seizing his windpipe making it hard to breathe. "Nothing works without you." She drew back and bit and nodded. She knew that. He'd told her that before. Her eyes flicked to the florescent clock in the radio. He knew what the casual act meant. She was distancing. She was cutting him loose. He felt panicky. She was giving up on him. He could _feel_ it. She was starting to realize that he wasn't worth the trouble. **_Oh God. _**He tightened his grip on her.

"It's a muscle Bobby." she touched his chest. "This love thing. You don't use it, you lose it." If that was true his muscle had atrophied but Alex had grown up enveloped in love. Her mother, her father, her brothers and sister telling her every morning and every night, saying it before leaving the house. It had been part of the fabric of their family. She'd had endless experience and practice.

"Come upstairs with me." he begged pulling her to him just a little.

"I don't think…"

"I love you." he got out burying his nose in her hair, "I love you so much Alex." his breath came shallow and he whispered only for her ear "I've never loved anyone or anything the way I love you." He had never felt quite so weak, quite so emasculated. "Stay." he implored. **_Forever. _**He wanted her to know how he felt but he was realizing what came with it.

Love was exposure.

Love was fear.

Love was standing on the brink all alone.

And then he wasn't alone. She kissed him so hard and deep and with so much _passion_ that it knocked him back, and he had to grab the dashboard for support. He could feel the joy in the movement of her lips across his and he kissed her back like a hurricane.

And something else occurred to him, love was awesome.

* * *

She woke up the next morning alone in her own bed. They'd still gone their separate ways last night, she felt she had to, but they were on more sound footing. He understood what she wanted now. He was damaged, so she she needed to be more clear. It wasn't a given that he would ever know what she wanted. She thought about him, about work, about babies as hot comforting drops of water sluiced over her naked body in the shower. They had talked about what they could do to make this more real, for him, for her. And they'd done all that talking in the cold slightly uncomfortable seats of her car. She worried that if she went upstairs his appeal would get the better of her and she'd end up underneath him in bed.

"You want to tell the captain?" he'd suggested.

"No." That scared her too much. He'd said _nothing worked without her_, well she couldn't work without him either, not anymore. "I just want to tell my family."

"Okay." he said "We'll do it together, talk to your father." He thought of the Kellen case, sitting in Mr. Eames modest apartment picking his brain on Jack Driscoll. He'd watched Eames putter lovingly but efficiently taking care of the older man. He hadn't imagined it, the old timer had affection for him. Maybe it wouldn't be as bad as he envisioned.

"As soon as we wrap this bike share thing, we'll have a few days coming."

"There is something else that could make this real. For me."

"What?"

"The baby. Tell me what you…"

She cut him off her voice clipped "One thing at a time Bobby. Let's just make it through this case and my dad."

In the shower she drew the loofah down over her breasts then lower still, leaving a soapy trail across her stomach.

She couldn't talk to him about babies.

There wasn't going to be a baby.


	47. Chapter 46

1PP was all abuzz at 0900 hours the new Mayor of the City of New York was due to step off that elevator and into the Major Case Squad. He'd chosen their 'little' squad room for his latest launch.

Bobby whispered, "I think the chief put a bug in his ear."

Alex smiled, she did too. As a former commissioner de Blasio was a law and order Mayor. But he also believed, as he stated in speeches (at what seemed like) every podium in the city, that order started inside the force, with the officers. He had already addressed roll call at the 25th Precinct in Harlem. And he had unveiled a new training program for recruits to help them get along better with the community. This mayor was all about perception, perception of the NYPD in the eyes of the public at large. And judging by this horse a pony show, his personal perception as well. Alex could remember reading a quote:

"The notion here is to start on the road to a different kind of communication," He wanted every uniform (and every detective) on the streets of New York to be"Ambassadors of the NYPD."

They'd been instructed yesterday to wear their Sunday best for this visit. Goren and Eames expected that a lot of smiling and hand shaking was on the agenda. Both Alex and Bobby had no real use for the big photo op or for the 'trickle up' policies that came with each new figure head. It was always the same, tough rules and regs for the bottom tier but just lush lifestyles and infedelity for the top. In the course of just their partnership she and Bobby had seen Guiliani, Bloomberg and now de Blasio. And Alex'd been a cadet under Dinkins and Bobby'd been one under Koch. The mayors came and went. The criminals stayed put. And so did they, the front lines. Alex took a tiny bit of pleasure in the press mockery of the mayor. Calling him "Miss Manners." She'd been around Bobby too long now she resented authority too.

She held up the press release that had preceded His Honourable, and waved it at Bobby, teasing, "I think you're going to struggle with numbers 2, 4 and 7." The crisp blue paper with sharp city letterhead had been issued to the mailboxes of every officer, detective and lieutenant NYPD wide. The guidelines were as follows:

1. Address people as "sir" or "ma'am"

2. Avoid drinking, smoking, gum chewing and cellphone use when on a call

3. Be an active listener, make eye contact with the person speaking

4. Keep an open mind

5. Be patient

6. Be knowledgeable

7. And end on a positive note

"Smart ass," he shot back. "Those guidelines are for new recruits. Besides, I'm way past keeping an open mind." he rapped on his head a few times "This thing is like a vault." She had to look down at her desk while she giggled. Giggling wasn't in the range of 'acceptable Eames bullpen behaviour'. Alex wondered if this mayoral event had been planned for weeks or if it was a silent endorsement of Hannah's leadership and the big ticket city-bike case they were about to close.

Three days ago she and Bobby had brought in Paul Culpepper after confirming his adolescent stint at Malborough College in Wiltshire, England. The long shots were always her favourite. Watching Bobby pull connections out of thin air and have them made real. She couldn't believe that a simple slip of diction on a 7 year old job application had lead to an interrogation and an arrest. She looked up at Bobby slyly raising just her eyes, not her head, her sweet detective magician, pulling watershed evidence out of thin air.

In return he gave her the softest, warmest, most open look. Then still holding her gaze reached out and grabbed a piece of paper. He scribbled something on it and slid it across the divide then turned looking hard at his computer screen. She palmed it, pulling it swiftly into her lap like a teenage girl in algebra class. It was a heart with R+A scrawled and floating in the white expanse of it's centre. A heart. A heart. Right there in red ballpoint pen. Her stomach flipped. Robert Goren serious as a heart attack and slightly sullen detective had just sent her a love note. She gave him a shy smile and pressed it to her chest, her heart, careful to stay busy all the while.

* * *

When they'd brought him in 3 days ago, Paul Culpepper hadn't been half the cool customer Tyler Mayford was. He was the technician, the one with practical knowledge of the program and judging from his fidgety hands and Tourette quality movements he was begging to be broken. Alex had screwed up her face and looked at the guy through one way glass. "Are we sure he's the one?" With his mop of curly red hair Culpepper looked…scattered and insignificant...

"He's the one." Bobby had rumbled leaning in with intensity. Smiling at the man's quirks. Ticks were a tell and her partner loved a good tell.

Their luck had run out a little after that, while Mayford had been too cocky for a lawyer and Sikes to stupid, Culpepper had asked for his within moments. And extraordinarily, once shielded by his attorney, like Keyser Soze, he'd straightened up and suddenly disposed of all his little impediments. All the ticks and twitches that had made him so pitiable were gone. He instantly looked cold, crossing his arms smirking a little at the array of things he'd been given when he'd been pathetic: coffee, a sandwich, a more comfortable seat.

"You believe this guy?" Alex asked Bobby inside the room. They'd decided to go in together.

"No," he looked down with distaste "The old bait and switch with a twist. I think I preferred the loser version."

"I thought this was the loser version." Eames gestured and smirked.

"Ha, ha detectives." the lawyer pipped up. "That's a very funny routine."

"Not half as funny as your client, thinking he could manipulate a multi-million dollar city program to his own ends." Goren just shook his head.

"And use anyone that got in his way then toss them aside like garbage." Eames added.

Paul Culpepper had worked for the DOT for 7 years, in an evolving role. Currently his title was software technician. And his job descrip was liaison to a private sector corporation called 3D Tech which developed Bike Share software used in shares all over North America. Culpepper now headed what the city called an 'integration team'. That is, integrating external information into municipal systems. He dealt in the transfer of that information.

Alex had read up on all of it during her evening sans Bobby. She'd sat with a glass of merlot and her laptop (the merlot was to make the reams of confusing information go down smoother). It was a little above her head but she got the gist. 3D Tech handled the software aspect of the City-Bike program: the payment terminals, electronic boards for the bike docks, the back office software, along with all management and operational needs, i.e. payments, accounts, billings, subscriptions, power control (solar energy) and communication between bike docks and payment terminals. In short the full monty.

Paul Culpepper's job for the city was to take that raw information and convert it for statistical analysis. He'd tracked users, their preferred terminals, frequency of use, their payment information, their personal information and their routes once on the bikes. Basically anything quantifiable. They hypothesized that he'd used his beady little eyes and a specially modified software program to collect personal citizen data. It had been like handing Satan the key to the city and it's citizens. He'd managed to use the credit card information to fatten his wallet and fund his fledgling crime enterprise - bike theft, with penny ante drug sideline. Alex smiled privately even criminals liked a diverse portfolio. Culpepper had targeted only stations that were experiencing the heaviest traffic and/or the most software problems. The ingenious cover being that withdrawals had appeared to come from the city program and could be attributed to the Bike Share, so the cry from the public was about overages rather then theft.

"What we really want to know Paul is how you got hooked up with a psychopath like Tyler Mayford? Was it over beef Wellington a Marlborough?" They saw the man eyes jump just a little and knew they were on the right track. "Loose cannon like that. You know, if you'd picked someone other then a budding serial killer you might have got away with this thing indefinitely." Goren leaned in earnestly.

The lawyer piped up."My client admits to a professional association with Mr. Mayford."

"What exactly did he bring to the table besides that pompous immorality?" Alex asked.

"My client doesn't know what fraudulent activities Mr. Mayford engaged in, Paul Culpepper is just a loyal city employee."

It had continued along those lines for another 45 minutes. Culpepper remaining mute except to restate facts already in evidence. Which was when they'd released him. Which was when they'd decided this nut would only be cracked in the act that meant surveillance. They wanted to see his associations and who might reach out. He'd likely have had a Station Technician (a johnny-on-the-spot who fixed bike kiosks and docks) on the payroll. They also expected people to pop up with long (but petty) RAP sheets, people like Sikes, minions. And only 1 day in they realized that they had called it correctly. Culpepper tried to stay under the radar but he was the linchpin, and the funny thing about linchpins when they slid out of place everything went to pieces. But Culpepper hadn't truly been ready to break until they'd manufactured an explosive reunion between the partners in crime.

The plan to reunite Mayford and Culpepper had caused a lot of tension. It had highlighted a truly schizophrenic rift was between the detectives (come lovers). Their most tried and tested interrogation technique was 'the prisoners dilemma'. And this was the perfect opportunity to use it. If they'd just been Goren and Eames there wouldn't have been a debate. But now they were Bobby and Alex, a couple and it was the source of great friction. They went at it that night in her small galley kitchen. He'd planted large hands on either countertop blocking her in.

"I'm not letting my pregnant girlfriend anywhere near that…"

"I am not just _your girlfriend_**_, _**I am a detective with the NYPD." she couldn't deal with his neanderthal attitudes. He was a walking contradiction. She wanted to rip out her hair. When they were alone there was no shortage of this stone age behaviour. But in public this was exactly the man that vanished. This man before her was not unsure. This man had never met meek. And this man asserted himself constantly.

She used two open hands to push at his chest, demanding to be freed from her kitchen prison. "I don't even know where all this risk supposedly is." She edged past him out of the tight space "I don't have to be alone with him, I don't need to do anything except play him."

"But he plays you too." Bobby said between clenched teeth.

"He tries." she said with confidence bordering on cocky. "Besides, I owe him a visit."

"You don't owe him anything." he spun away grabbing his head "I hate this."

"It's the only way." _**Deal with it.**_

And in the end they had gone with the Mayford plan, of course, it was only logical. With Goren (illogically in love) kicking and screaming the whole way. Hannah was totally oblivious to the tension surrounding Mayford, he clapped is hands and rubbed them like this interrogation was a good meal. He loved this stuff, seeing it all come together, he never missed an opportunity to sit in the unseen (but oh so cushy) catbird seat.

"It all comes down to this." he boomed in his best theatrical sports announcer voice. "Go in there and wrap it up." it was the verbal equivalent to a slap on the ass for his winningest quarterbacks.

* * *

"Detective." Tyler Mayford drew the word out with such undisguised lechery that Alex felt it slide up her back like a slimy hand.

"Mr. Mayford."

"Two steps forward two steps back." he smiled "Tyler to you, always Tyler." he patted the lawyerless metal chair to his left. She hesitated briefly meeting Bobby's disgusted glare. Alex imagined that that was how a man would look after he'd thrown up a little in his mouth. But his disapproval aside she sat making a show of sliding the chair 3 feet from it's loser laden twin. Mayford leaned deep bridging most of the gap, so close that Alex could smell his minty breath "I waited for your visit." Then he shrugged, "But I guess this is as good as that."

Nothing phased a psycho.

When their second guest arrived, Paul Culpepper with lawyer in tow, the mood changed from uneasy seduction to palpable discomfort. It was tight quarters around the small table (it was a smaller table then usual, by design) Eames and Goren had brought it in special then spread themselves out forcing the newest arrivals to be infill and uncomfortably close. And the two criminals who looked like they didn't want to share a planet were suddenly occupying the tight sphere of one another's personal space.

"Together again." Goren started, smiling.

"You're quite the team." Eames quipped.

"Laurel and Hardy?"

"No Bonnie and Clyde."

"Which one of you is Bonnie?" they played the schtick to a completely unreceptive audience.

"Well the one that likes his reflection probably." Alex gestured at Mayford, She saw Culpepper smirk so she went down that road. "He is very pretty isn't he? Have you been inside his closet?"

He nodded "It's obscene." he looked at Mayford like he was a an animal, a dandy animal (if there could be such a thing).

"I'm supposed to look like you?" Mayford took up the challenge. "A refugee from style? An alien to good taste?"

If looks could kill.

"Boys, boys. I see why it all went to pieces." Bobby smiled waving a finger as if to chastise their naughtiness. "What exactly did he contribute?" He asked Culpepper. then swivelled on Mayford "What exactly did you contribute?" he looked puzzled.

"I don't even know why I'm here." Mayford said looking bored.

"Let me give you a refresher. Murder, conspiracy, theft, fraud…" Alex started.

Bobby broke in "We can't list them all we only have 4 hours before quitting time." he smiled again all teeth "But we'll be sure to get them to your lawyer." he turned to Culpepper "How did you know Jane Walston?" he laid a photo out for the man.

"I don't."

"Well we have a theory." Alex said. "Feel free to stop us if we're wrong."

"We found your electronic signature all over her credit card and her confidential records. We know she bought a 3 day inclusive bike pass from the city there was ample time for you to track her, defraud her, murder her." Goren added.

"He's already admitted it." Alex gestured to Mayford. "But we've seen who the boss is." she spoke to Culpepper. "Clearly he doesn't do anything without your say so."

"As if I would take instruction from this." Mayford waved angrily.

"So you were in charge then." Bobby asked him.

"I don't think either was in charge, it was such a weak plan." Alex concluded.

Both men just looked at each other but no one uttered a word. Culpepper's lawyer said "If this is all you have, my client is a very busy man."

"We don't think he's all that busy, no job anymore. He's had a lot of visitors though, probably friends in his time of need." Goren slapped down surveillance photos from the last day "it was a real cast of characters. And cellphone conversations." he played a very cryptic discussion with Culpepper trying to reassure an associate of something that remained unclear. Bobby laughed "You'd think you were their mother, the way they came running to you the second something went wrong."

Mayford shook his head in disgust then looked at his former partner with and said "Rookie."

"He told us you were disorganized." Eames turned to look into the eyes of her obsessive killer. "He said you were…"

"She's lying." Culpepper erupted. "_I_ haven't said a word." It was a warning, implied.

"Does he always pull rank like that?" Goren pushed. "It's embarrassing, like you're a child."

Mayford roared to life in a startlingly sudden display of aggression, lunging at Culpepper, knocking back his own chair. Alex had sprung up seconds later her hand going to her gun was and roughly jostled. She gripped the table to keep from stumbling. Tyler Mayford really was an animal. His reaction was so disproportionate to the slight. She saw the raw rage he might unleash on someone. But the detectives quickly had him pinned him to the table top. Eames cuffing him none too delicately.

"Not necessary detective." his voice kindly and cultured though his nose and mouth were mashed into the steel table. And just like that it was as if he hadn't been angry at all. He was the picture of ease and cool once again.

"Sit down." Alex righted his chair and then body checked him into it. And at just the perfect moment (per plan) Bobby suggested to Culpepper and his lawyer that they move to a less cramped space. "Try _Reception Room_ 3." Alex helped hoping Mayford had caught her inflection. And the real fun had begun. Upping the stakes, lying from one room to the next. Working the men into a figurative lather. And despite Mayford's obvious volatility and instability Culpepper had cracked first.

"He's a pig!" He'd burst eventually. "Don't let the Savile Row suits or the letters after his name fool you. He's common with base sexual needs. I admit to taking $39.95 off that woman's credit card, he's the one that had a _taste_ for her. You should have seen how he tracked her, stalked her. She didn't have a hope. Chance meeting my ass. He knew exactly where she would be and when. I told him to _get it the fuck together. _But he couldn't control himself. he couldn't even focus on his part of the job. Creamy white skin…. he kept saying." This all fired out like he'd been wanting to say it forever. Culpepper shook his head in disgust "Creamy white fucking skin? I'm trying to run a…" he stopped "I'm working and this moron just won't stop obsessing."

Eames played a recording of the outburst for Mayford. Then blinking as seductively as she could muster asked "Aren't you just aching to bring that asshole down?"

Turned out he was.


	48. Chapter 47

They left the station about 20 minutes apart. He walked passed 3 Starbucks' in order to meet at _their_ special one, exactly 6 blocks away from 1PP. It was a little bit of intrigue to hide the fact that they were going home together and counting the minutes (seconds, milliseconds) until they could make love. They were riding a high. Their electricity snapped, it sizzled, it arced between them and was hard to hide. Bobby had wanted to bend her over the interrogation table when they'd finished. It was all he could do to keep his hands to himself. The thrust and parry of bringing down criminals was amazing foreplay.

Alex squealed up in front of their chain coffee shop, her tail end sticking out a little into rush hour traffic. She ignored the angry chorus of honks, stuck on her hazard lights and waited as he sauntered out and jumped in. She drove a good portion of the way to her apartment with her hand resting on his thigh occasionally letting a finger slip low to run along the seam of his pant leg. She stopped short of making contact _there_. But to Bobby it really didn't matter if she actually touched his sex he was about to burst. He grabbed her hand.

"You are killing me!"

She gave him a look of amused innocence.

"You've been killing me all day long." He bit out. Because the rock in his pants was making speech difficult.

"I guess that's a _no_ to groceries before we head home?"

"Sure if you don't mind shopping with me dripping down your thighs." he said casually.

"God Bobby." The raw graphic sexuality. It did something to her body, Alex bashed her foot onto the accelerator. **_Gotta get home. Gotta get home._**

When she finally slipped the key into the lock of her apartment and opened the front door he was on her. He used his size and momentum moving her swiftly back toward the couch. She actually yelped at the speed of it and as far as Alex knew she never yelped. Wounded coyotes yelped. And apparently so did small woman in the grip of their massive lovers. He came down on top of her a pleasing crash of flesh and bone, his lips on hers and hands everywhere, frantically touching everything he could access. It was sensory overload - his hands, his mouth, his hands, his mouth, his hands, his mouth - on her over and over. And she felt that sensation, that old feeling rising in her belly. She was still fully clothed, but just the way he needed her...

"Bobby."

"Ahh Bobby?" there was a question in the cry.

"Ohhhhhh Bobby." Her breathing a changed, her abdomen tightened. She was going to come. It was alarming the power he had over her. A little too alarming for a control freak. "Slow down." she gasped fighting against sensation.

"Slow down Bobby"

But he knew what was happening. He wanted it. He wanted a taste of how they'd been in that room today right here on this couch. To turn a physical sexual act into the ultimate mental one. He wanted her to think herself to the peak. "Feel it baby." And the words barely sounded like him at all so gravely and tight. His slid his hands against her clothes. Rubbing his coarse 5 o'clock shadow and those soft lips right into the erogenous zone at crook of her neck.

"Let me..." She pushed on him but her words got muffled in the fabric of his immense suit encased shoulder. And then the weight of him, and then the grip of his hand, and then and then the darkness behind her closed lids, and then the rhythmic panting from her own lips all conspired to engorge the right blood vessels and tense the right muscles in a perfect blissful rippling orgasm.

"Holy shit." she said still spasming in the aftermath her hands grasping and digging deep into his layers of fabric.

But now he was desperate. Erotically charged by what had just happened. There was no time for him to pause, he was walking his own precarious orgasmic ledge. He was determined not to waste his seed on the clammy cloth of his underwear. In his haste two of the buttons on her favourite purple blouse went flying. Even in her pliable, limp and dosey state Alex managed irritation.

"Ugh, Bobby I love this shirt!" She said and sounding like she just smoked something illegal. Then he was stroking her breasts, cupping massaging them through her lavender bra. Then that fabric was gone, then her arms were pushed up over her head and his mouth was plucking at her nipples. He growled there in the valley of her breasts making her wetness surge again, leaving her wondering when she would ever stop desiring this man.

_**When I die. Maybe.**_

She cupped his head encouraging him to suckle. And then he rose up on one arm, like the man mountain he was, levered over her looking down. He leaned in very deliberately and traced her lips with his tongue. She smiled and closed her eyes so he did it again running two fingers down the length of her extended arm to her waist. She arched and laughed a little.

"Are you ticklish?" he asked fascinated by every single new detail he learned about her.

"Course not," but she couldn't help but wriggle a little when he did it again.

And just like that his sexual urgency was forgotten so he could play with her. When he delved in a third time then a fourth she was almost hysterical, clawing, twisting and writhing "No! No." but by then his hand was so far into her armpit and his face so gleeful that, well, desperate times called for desperate measures. She targeted the soft interior of his elbow, buckling his supporting arm, knocking it bringing all of that luscious man weight down - hard. But not before planting a foot on the ground and propelling herself out from beneath him. She quickly mounted him seizing the comfortable upper hand.

"You are out of control." She chastised without heat. She'd loved every minute of it.

He shifted beneath her smiling ever so slightly, gripping her hips and moving her against him "No fair detective." he said, "Those are tactical moves."

"Here are a few more." She pushed his head back by the chin with the heel of her hand. Then she wrapped delicate fingers around his throat pausing for a moment to feel the warmth and pulse of him. Then she replaced her hand with her mouth placing an open mouth kiss on his adam's apple unbuttoning his shirt as she moved lower, worshipping his chest. She brought a knee up between his legs feeling the soft/hard paradox of him rest on her.

"What are you doing?" he asked lazily.

"Defending myself." she smiled at her own erotic variation on a defensive training class.

He laughed and sat up trapping her leg there between his, pulling her hard against him. His happiness was an aphrodisiac. She started on his clothes kissing his neck, his ear, his cheek his nose, whatever. Jacket, tie clip, tie, buttons, cursing dumb clumsy fingers desperately searching for the present tucked inside all this fabric. Suddenly she was hit, bashed by a crazy longing. A sensation that she was unbearably empty and had haunting, echoing, chasm between her thighs. **_Screw these cuffs,_ **she dropped her hand from his wrists and went for what she really wanted, grabbing his belt and working it open.

"Ready now?" his lips quirked at her urgent shaky hands.

"Oh yeah." she said breathlessly standing up abruptly wiggling her pants down over her hips. Until she was naked. His eyes were naked too watching her. Devouring her. "Pants off!" she barked losing her ability to be civil. But it was odd today. Their passion was all over the place. Maybe it was the adrenaline still working through them. Maybe it was just enjoying this new kind of sexual journey. Instead of tearing off his clothes he sat more fully leaned his head back against the sofa and watched her with heavy hooded eyes. She thought he looked so sexy there, projecting power and yet leaning back insolently, his shirt hanging open. Like a mob boss or a CEO or a fucking hot detective with the NYPD. She licked her lips at those thoughts.

"Turn." he instructed.

And she didn't deny him. She spun, slowly, self consciously, whatever he wanted.

His hand went inside his pants.

And in that moment her submission collided with her dominance. She slid one hand over her breast and the other down tentatively over her thatch of hair.

"Come here." he commanded releasing a slow shaky breath. She smiled a smile worthy of the Mona Lisa, widened her stance a little and used her index finger to work between her thighs moaning a little.

"Alex." He was pleading with her.

"Bobby." Her skin broke out raised and ready, every microscopic muscle pulling every single hair erect. She took the short steps back to him straddling his lap wetting the fly of his trousers with her need.

"You are so fucking beautiful." he pronounced and she started at the sharpness. Then he wet his fingers in her. Grabbing her mouth with his own. She came up on her knees giving him better access. Which he took.

The view from up here!

Taller then him for once. Looking down for a moment at his beautiful face upturned. She planted her mouth on his. She cupped his head with her biceps kneading his lips with hers and massaging his scalp with her fingertips parting and re-parting those curly salt and pepper locks. His hands slid to her bare bottom and squeezed. She gave a muffled little scream at that pleasure pain.

"...grabbing my ass..." she said on a laugh.

"My ass." he muttered possessively grabbing it again. I am his she thought and not for the first time. She was dangerously close to putting the women's lib movement back 60 years. And she couldn't help it she wanted to get lost in this man. She wanted him to own her. And then he was shoving shoving frantically at his pants, lifting his hips, pushing kicking tearing them off, until he was a tent pole between her thighs but not quite there.

"Alex, sit on me." it wasn't his most sophisticated offering but he was having trouble forming words. Me want. Me need. Give me. That was as evolved as he got with this woman. He put immense downward pressure on her hips. And she did at last give them what they both needed sinking onto him with a mewling moany eruption. Then she went to work. Clasping his shoulders her gaze just beyond his ear, the world a meaningless kaleidoscope as she worked her hips hard in a rhythm worthy of a percussion instrument.

"Oh God Eames!" she heard him default to her other name, like she had restored him to factory settings. He didn't attempt to hold her, she was holding her own. Clenching, rocking, pulsing, grinding him to the hardest orgasm he had ever had in his life. Now she was gripping his ears, now his hair, now his shoulders, now his biceps still undulating like a machine. He moved his hips forward jerkily trying to stay still and failing miserably. He was so close. So close.

He was sweating, she was sweating. He felt her teetering on that hairs edge. He wanted to grab her in tight, but instead he clenched his fists and let those magic hips just go and go and go until he felt the sticky, clenching of her muscles in orgasm and then she bowed back spasming through the sensations, the depth and breadth of which were mind blowing. He wanted to watch her come to pieces in his arms but he couldn't because his body wanted what it wanted, and with one powerful bucking thrust his own hit him like a freight train.

He left for a while.

That was what it felt like.

Like he left this plane of existence.

It had never been this way. Ever.

And then afterward, afterward she curled into him balling up her arms against her chest burrowing into his body seeking warmth. And as he tried to regain himself (and listened to her do the same) he ached, literally ached with love. He wrapped his arms around her small trembling form and just had to say it.

"I want to marry you."

* * *

"Talk to me."

"What do you want me to say exactly?"

"Yes." he looked at her, "Say yes."

She gave him a sidelong glance. After his spontaneous declaration she had popped up out his arms grabbed his shirt off the couch and made a beeline for the bathroom. Now buttoned up (both literally and figuratively) she was back before him but on the opposite side of the room behind an armchair kneading the nubby beige chenille fabric with her fingertips.

"I'm not holding that emotional outburst against you."

"It wasn't…"

"We had an intense moment. Let's leave it at that." She felt foolish hiding behind a chair and moved around the room puttering and adjusting. She stooped quickly to pick up her tangled heap of pants and underwear, cheeks reddening a little.

"No." he said shrugging into his trousers. "Actually I think I'm finished with the avoiding and pretending." his voice wavered ever so slightly but he didn't bend.

She knew what was coming. "No." she said.

"Yes." he took her elbow "Alex, look at me."

She turned away from him more fully. Looking at him wasn't a good idea right now. But ever sweet, ever loving, ever wonderful he put his arms around her waist. And let his palm slip over her not quite flat stomach.

"No Bobby." she whispered.

"Yes." He repeated "We made something, together." He paused "We need to talk about our future. Unless you don't want one with me." she felt him retreat ever so slightly. Going from confident to uncertain in a blink. She snatched at his hand holding it wrapping his arm around her again.

"I can't do this."

"Wh-what do you mean?"

"I- I decided. I can't do this. I can't be a mother. I can't be a wife... again."

"We-we haven't even talked a-a-about…" cold fear running up his spine.

"All I've done is think about this." she dropped his hand raging and devastated all at once. Dashing a tear away bruskly. "Every damn second of everyday. How can I? How can we?" haltingly then "Marriage? A kid? Us?" she choked out a laugh. "Our ages? Our jobs? Our relationship? It's insane."

He clung to that word "Or maybe I'm insane? Is that what you're thinking? Flawed genes? A genetic nightmare" he turned away. "I should have expected this. I mean I wouldn't risk it either."

She heard such derision in his voice that she couldn't bear it. She ached that she had put it there, she had made him feel inadequate. She moved the few steps necessary to press her forehead to the warm skin between his shoulder blades. "Don't say things like that. You know I love you. I would do almost anything for you. But this?" She whispered the last words.

"I remember." he said quietly.

"What?"

"'**_The disease is inherited, Nick could pass it to their kids. I can't imagine any woman having children under those circumstances._**' You have strong opinions" he accused. She blinked and her blood ran cold. He remembered her words from a forgettable case almost a decade ago. He even remembered the name of the millionaire's son who she'd been speaking of at the time. Sometimes it was so obvious that not only weren't they on a level field, they weren't even sharing the same intellectual galaxy.

"N-n- no." she stuttered anxiously. He had her. He had the words of an immature version of herself, before Nate, before any of the (oh so pivotal) ensuing years. He had the words she uttered before she'd realized that, held up against true love, most risk was acceptable. To be honest she hadn't even considered schizophrenia. Maybe that made her irresponsible. But her head was very much in the here and now. She was consumed only with what Bobby could and could not offer her, them, herself and her child. "It isn't about that. It _never_ was." She could only hope he believed her.

He was silent.

"Can we just have dinner? Can we just be together?"

But he was devastated. "I don't know how to do that."

"Bob…"

"It... It hurts." Everything he had once wanted but long given up on was so close. So close. And now it was gone again in the blink of an eye. He should be comforted by the pain by now. Like an old friend. But instead he felt restless, angry, sad and worst of all impotent. He desperately wanted to fight for the dream he had created in his head. A perfect fantasy moment, with he and Alex side by side, in Central Park pushing a stroller.

Stupid fancy.

Stupid Goren.

Someday soon the child would be a memory. A bit of fiction like the characters in his novels. But he wouldn't know when, there would just be a barely perceptible shift in Alex. He might see her take some ibuprofen for a headache or drink a glass of wine with dinner, and he would just know.

That thought almost buckled his knees.

Since he felt couldn't protest her decision he had to get away from it.

"I'll uh… I'll see you in the morning."

"Bobby no. Stay. Please." Begging, she was begging she wouldn't have believed it if she hadn't heard herself.

"I don't want my… I don't want to interfere with your choice." he grabbed his coat, pulling it on over his bare skin, she heard the slam of the door after him.

"Bobby!" Someone screeched. Her?

She stared at the door. That bright white aluminum barrier. Emotions crashing down. To go from such heights to such lows. Confusion, emptiness, agony. The room was a vacuum in his absence, an empty sucking wound. That night she cried. Cried in a way she hadn't in years, full wracking sobs. All at once releasing the tears she'd stored since they started this awful, messy, lovely relationship and for her stupid conflicted heart.

She cried for rejection.

She cried for love.

She cried for a child she'd never know and husband she'd never have.

She cried for all of it then fell asleep, exhausted.


	49. Chapter 48

She didn't see him in the morning, because in the morning she felt like she had a hangover and she looked like she had a terminal illness, so wan and drawn and heartsick. The alarm clock had been cruel in its urgency. So she'd called in, told some administrative assistant some lie about the stomach flu. When she'd spoken she'd sounded the part too, her voice creaking and pitching like old floorboards.

She lay expressionless staring at the pattern of dimples and grooves in her bedroom ceiling. She wrapped her arms around her middle. She wondered if this was what death throes felt like. She couldn't escape her mind and the mental pain had become physical, intense and unrelenting. She needed to get out of here she needed to run, to leave, to be alone. **_But you'll never be alone again._** A cynical voice mocked her. And it was right. Impending motherhood weighed heavy like an anchor in her abdomen. And then there was the job. They were on an active case. She had to help him. She had obligations. But she couldn't stay here. This apartment didn't feel like hers anymore it felt like _theirs._ The memories would kill her. She could practically smell the sex, still feel Bobby's arms around her, still hear the faint echo of moans emitted just 10 hours ago. Then she was on her feet and out the door. She sniffling slightly swiping at the hair that was always falling across her cheek and pulling her cardigan in tight around her small frame, slamming and locking the front door.

Then on autopilot she was in the car. And then seemingly by itself the car was on a north eastern trajectory. She alternated between cranking the radio to an ear busting decibel so she couldn't think, then turning it off so she could.

Who was she kidding?

It was time for a few home truths.

She'd been in love with Bobby for over a decade. She wanted a life with him. She wanted to have his child. But she had never been this afraid, ever. Her resting pulse rate went through the roof just thinking about it. This change, the magnitude of it, she couldn't think of anything that wouldn't be altered. She supposed that every child came in like a wrecking ball, deeply changing its parents lives. But was everyone walking the edge she would be? Between having a partner and husband. Between being a cop and civilian. Between healthy and high risk?

She sighed deep and gusty and just kept driving.

* * *

She pulled up to her sisters Old Greenwich, Connecticut home overnight bag in hand. The trees were thicker here and even though they had already lost their leaves it felt so fresh and rural. New York was vibrant but in a completely different way, it was an ode to ingenuity. This was simple, charming and pastoral. Right now Alex just needed to close her eyes and get centred by her baby sister. And Nathan, she couldn't wait to wrap her arms around that cuddly little boy. Although 'little' was a relative term, in a year or two he'd be taller then her.

Liz answered the door of her yellow colonial stirring something in a large blue bowl with a cordless phone at her ear. Alex felt warm comfort run through her. Her sister looked like a Norman Rockwell redux. Not for the first time Alex though of Nathan growing up in this beautiful environment and knew that she had allowed her sister fulfill her calling. She was made for this domesticity. Liz took one look at her and raised her eyebrows with concern. Whoever was on the phone was gone in short order and Alex was enveloped in the warmest of hugs.

"Loosen up. Loosen up you scary city cop." she coaxed giving her sister a gentle shake. She pulled back "I wondered when you'd come. You look horrible."

Alex snorted and rolled her eyes at that last bit. The last time she'd seen her sister, before Thanksgiving, it'd been compliments galore. Alex'd floated up so high on her swelled head. Now after a night of tears… Well... Liz was nothing if not honest. Honest and and touchy feely because she grabbed her older sister by both forearms and tugged her into the foyer.

"Okay. Tell me." the younger woman said immediately not letting go. She was so serious. Alex was astounded at how sensitive her sister was. The curve of her body the touch of her palms the softness in her eyes. Liz understood the gravity without even knowing the problem.

"I can't just pop in to see my sis?"

"You've been a stranger for quite a while now."

"I'm sorry. But after the attack, after I managed to start feeling normal again, well, I just..."

"Went into hibernation?"

"I was going to say threw myself into work."

Now it was Liz's turn to snort. "The job that almost killed you? Twice now? Your dedication is overwhelming."

"Let's not go there. Not now." Alex said weakly, she had heard this or some variation of it for years. After the first time she'd been hurt Elizabeth had lost all tolerance for the hours, the sacrifices and loyalty the job demanded. They'd been through a couple of close calls with their dad back in his day. And Liz'd just reached her tipping point.

"Okay." She let it go, but only because her sister looked like she was about to turn into a miserable puddle on her slate tile. She turned taking Alex's hand leading them around the staircase and deeper into the house. From behind Alex looked at her sisters slender toned body, she was padding around in bare feet, her hair swinging happily in a ponytail, she could have been 23 as easily as her real age of 39.

This Connecticut house said a lot about it's occupants. It spoke of a woman with a lot of time to dedicate to the details of gracious living. In the foyer a console table sat with artfully arranged items, a stack of books, a bowl overflowing with lilies under a grand gilded mirror. But at the same time it wasn't too precious, there were touches of family, informal coat hooks and a pile of Wellington boots in an array of sizes, no doubt for walking the dog or raking the leaves on cool autumn days. Alex wondered, not for the first time, what cocktail of circumstances had made her a tough cop and her sister a mini Martha Stewart - that doyen of home and family and style.

The house was comfortable. Just the right size for a family of three and a medium sized dog and just enough spare space to have a guest or host a dinner, but not so much room that it felt vast or inhospitable. _**When in Rome**_ Alex thought and slipped off her boots immediately loving the feel of the runners and toss rugs that warmed up the wide plank wood and tile flooring. They stopped at the back of the house in the kitchen/family room. Though the day was a little grey, the room had large windows and glowed with early afternoon light. Liz gestured to the overstuffed sofa teeming with toss pillows in an array of country colours. Alex sank into them, too exhausted by being Alexandra Eames to crack or quip about any of it. Her thoughts felt like weights upon her narrow sagging shoulders.

"Well?" Liz asked simply, plopping into an adjacent chair.

"Well what?"

"You're here because of a man."

"Where do you get this stuff?" Alex adjusted in her seat. Forget soccer mom maybe her sister should have been a profiler.

"I can tell."

"How?" she looked skeptical.

"You've been crying. Makeup can't hide that. You haven't called in weeks and yet you're here on a weekday. You're using your Go-Bag for a quick getaway, and of course theres," she she let her hand mimic the curve of an abdomen heavy with child. Liz had never seen her sister look so fragile. And that said a lot. She'd seen her after Joe and after their mom had died but this was different. Liz thought better of charging in too aggressively instead she said. "You just take a few deep breaths, unwind, I'll get us something warm to drink." Her smile was gentle. Alex imagined it was the face a kindergarten teacher made when she wanted to reassure a skittish youngster. She thought briefly of Jane Walston. And knew immediately that Elizabeth and Jane would have gotten on like a house on fire.

She took her sister's words to heart, sitting more deeply into the sofa and curling her feet under her, letting herself be taken care of, letting the silence of midday in this suburban home wash over her. What was that sound? Birds? Wow. Chirping birds. Nature. She hadn't considered anything outside of her narrow, gritty existence in so long.

Liz returned with a couple of large yellow steaming mugs and sat across from her.

"Is it Peter?" Liz ventured letting her body copy Alex's in pose and posture.

The older sister shook her head. _**So they were really going to play this. The guess who knocked up Alex game.**_

"Aaron?"

"Wow" Alex laughed briefly without humour, "I haven't heard his name in over a year." she fingered the handle of the mug.

"Is it Bobby?" Alex couldn't help but look at her, but then quickly looked back down to hide the tell. But looking down was the tell.

"Oh my God!" Liz crowed " I knew it! I was right! Suck it Bill!" Alex started at that. "Sorry, it's just, he owes me 50 bucks." She shrugged a little apologetically then with genuine pleasure said "It's Bobby. It's Bobby! Finally!" Then realizing all of this might be a little insensitive she dialed it back a bit. "I hoped for this Ally. When dad told me. I really really hoped it was Bobby."

"I thought you would be pleased." And there was a hint of a smile in haunted eyes. Bobby was so worried, he didn't realize how much her family genuinely loved him. Alex had wanted to have this for weeks. She'd wanted to get out of their intense bubble of two, but he… Well... Trust issues. "I give you permission to do a happy dance." Alex said bemused, she found her sister so entertaining. She wished she could distill her energy and happiness and honesty and gulp down the potent beverage.

"Okay!" Liz stood up and did a little hip wiggle. "It's Bobby! It's Bobby!"

"Okay. Sit down you weirdo." Alex gave a choked laugh, one hand shielding her eyes embarrassed. Her mood moving from deeply morose to only mildly blue.

"I'm sorry but I have waited for this moment for TWELVE YEARS. Count em! 1, 2, 3, 4, 5" she ticked off each number on a finger, 6 - thought that might be the year but no, 7, 8, 9, 10 - something really shifted here, 11 then hello lucky number 12!"

"Okay I get it you're pleased."

"Aren't you?"

"My emotions are mixed." Alex hedged.

"Why mixed?"

"It's complicated."

"Obviously. But it's Bobby."

"Yeah. I know. You founded his fan club, but we're partners."

"Sure." Liz waved a dismissive hand, "I get that. It's stressful. But this is your fairytale. You and Bobby are as close as two people get to being soul mates."

"Oh give me a break." Alex didn't bother to hide her disdain for that fantastical notion. "What did you think of my 'soul mate' at Thanksgiving? He didn't exactly come out fighting or even show up." she said annoyed.

Liz waved a hand "That was intense all of us around a table. Too intense."

"Yeah I know, I was out there on the front lines."

"Oh Linda can be a bitch. We know that, we love her, move on." Maybe that was the key, being able to just letting it all go.

"Yeah well I tore him a new one over that. Bobby's… difficult."

"Genius is difficult."

"You _really_ like him." Alex rested her head on her fist and braced against the sofa's arm.

"Yes. I really do." Liz smiled. "He takes care of you." she said, like that was all she needed and took a sip from her mug. Then realizing that might be a little too one dimensional she added. "Obviously he's a rebel. Clearly _not_ a talker. And God he's wounded. But it's all a bit sexy, no?"

Alex huffed a bit at that. "Maybe you like him a little too much."

Liz belly laughed "No, you have nothing to worry about." Still smiling she said "I'm not some Pollyanna, I remember the all the stories, I remember mean Bobby - the bad humour, the eye rolling, the captain sassing, the desk tossing. And holy crap his family, what a bunch of losers, glad they're all gone."

Alex couldn't control her gasp.

"Too much?" Liz asked aware she tended to go too far.

"Uh no, not really." Alex stared at nothing for a long time then suddenly said "He struggles with everything."

"What do you mean?"

"He doesn't… He can't… He has trust issues."

"Like he sleeps with a loaded gun trust issues? Or like he won't give you a key to his house trust issues?"

"No. Like self-esteem and love." Alex rubbed her forehead "It's just so different being with him." She frowned "I guess I've seen it for years…"

"But now it's in your house." Liz nodded in understanding taking a deep sip of tea. "I thought you said he was in therapy."

"He is."

"Then he knows something's wrong and obviously wants to change. You have to trust too."

Alex considered that. Liz was right. It hurt to have to ask Bobby to support her or to wait for him to love her. But he'd gotten there, eventually. **_Twelve years and tons of heart break later. _**The question was could she wait for him over and over. It was going to make her resentful. She was paralyzed by the thought. She might give up a successful professional pairing for a failing personal relationship. The booby prize would be bitterness and child support.

"Anyway none of it matters because, you two, it's fate… " Alex looked at her in disbelief, but Liz was serious "You two can't really get rid of each other. I don't think it's possible."

"Have you lost it." Alex said hard and inflexible "Bobby has left me so many times. You saw what that did to me."

"I also saw him come back, because he's your soul mate."

"You were being so helpful." Alex sighed setting her mug down on the glass end table, "And now crazy town."

"I know you like your evidence so let me give you something to chew on. Exhibit A: A coffee shop conversation two years after Joe, remember what you said? Exhibit B: After that Gage bitch, two words: gold necklace." She paused "Exhibit C: Last Christmas, after dinner."

"Can we just stick to reality." Alex asked "You're about to describe a coincidence."

"More then that, synchronicity. Hidden interconnectivity." Liz was a student of Eastern traditions, and a bit like the new agey people Bobby had assumed Alex would judge. Well he was right. She was judging.

"You're such a romantic." Alex said.

"You say that like it's revolting."

"No," Alex sighed sweeping back her hair "Just so naive and optimistic."

"I remember it like it was yesterday. I had a latte and you were drinking that disgusting sugary thing you call coffee. And you hadn't been assigned your new Major Case partner but we were talking about it. Then we started talking about my 'career' as a matchmaker said to me and I quote 'Sure I'll get involved again just make sure he's a tall, dark, handsome, genius that is willing to spend all his time with me and knows exactly what the job means to me." She gave a wide eyed smile "And then you said and 'I'm done with J's I'm going for B's"

"I was being a smart ass."

"Yeah I know. I'd set you up with James and Jared both jerks. But you had a premonition about Bobby that day."

"Do you also believe in unicorns?" Alex couldn't help but snark a little.

"Okay what's that around your neck?"

She rolled her eyes.

"They'll get stuck that way." Liz mustered some snark of her own, then added "Well?"

"I like it." Alex got defensive and fondled the necklace and cross.

"Sure. You like it like a talisman. You like it the way people 'like' air. You NEVER take it off."

Alex didn't tell her sister that Bobby had actually put it around her neck and given her a beautiful card, white with a lace overlay, handwritten, Proverbs 3:3 she still had it. He had never said anything religious or devout since. But that day, that day there had been tears in his eyes and hers. And since then she never taken off the gift. Funny to think that something, a thin rope of gold had been on her body for over 5 years but it had.

"I like it." she repeated simply.

"Okay more recent Christ…"

Alex cut her off "Forget about Christmas!"

"The two of you were in a clench asleep on that very couch."

"We weren't even together."

"Which makes it all the more unbelievable."

"I'm not even sure what happened. Blame it on the tryptophan. It was so quiet in here all the adult noise was in the kitchen, the kids were playing in the basement, the tree was glittering…"

"So you decided to mate on the couch."

Alex went beet red. Imagining her whole family walking in to that sight. "We WERE NOT mating."

"You were lying face to face arms wrapped around each other legs all…

"Stop." Alex cut her off with a hand in the air. "I get it.

"The last time I witnessed that kind of unconscious need between two people was… never… Really never. Bill never holds me that way."

"You have a great marria…"

"I didn't say it for sympathy I'm telling you what I saw. What we all saw Ally. We didn't judge it, it was after that nightmare case, the mass murder, you both deserved some solace, and of course you flew apart like you were on fire when we woke you but ... wow." she took a long slow breath "And…"

"And what?" Alex asked.

I think I can say this now, I think we're far enough from the pain…" she took a deep breath "Joe was a nice guy, a decent man, but Joe was no Bobby."

She didn't defend him. Joe didn't need defending. He had been good and caring. But he was gone and Alex needed the honesty. Elizabeth was right. Alex had long admitted it, she had loved Joe with every ounce of her young heart but he had never turned her inside out. He had never mesmerized her with words or grace. He had never caused her heart this unbearable pain - except in death. And back then she had been mourning more then just her husband, the good strong man that he was. She had been mourning all the dreams, mourning that happy future they had banked on. She had been coming to grips with the fact that she was alone, truly, for the first time in a decade. She had been mourning for Joe's mother, _**God his poor devastated mother.**_ Karen hadn't lived more then 2 years after her only child had been taken so violently.

"What is the point of this?" she pinched the bridge of her nose, it felt like heaping sadness upon sadness.

"The point is, you're in crisis." Liz sat back and set her cup down on the white wooden end table. "I'm trying to give you the perspective you need."

"Yeah 45 and pregnant." she white knuckled a fist to her mouth. "I don't know what to do." the words come out muffled.

"What are you thinking of doing?" Her sister asked gently.

"We're both adults." she implored her sister to get it without having to say it "We live in the real world, well most of the time. I'm alone, I'm old, I have this job that demands so much, I'm in the city." she hoped the writing was on the wall because she didn't think she could say the word abortion.

Liz leaned her chin into her palm, eyes sad, "I think your world is a little too real."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It's not all about apartment square footage, the year on your drivers licence and dead bodies. Ally where's the light? Where is the joy? The faith? The love?" She shook her head. "Say what you want about me. Call me a blethering optimist, but I'm happy."

"I'm 45." she said again. The number may as well have been 85 for all the energy she put into saying it.

"The new 35." Liz rallied.

Alex couldn't help the burst of laughter. **_Glass still firmly half full._**

"Really." She nodded enthusiastically. "I was reading an article couldn't have been more than 2 weeks ago, about the number of career women waiting to have kids or trying again in their 40's some even thinking they were menopausal only to find… surprise! It's still high risk, I'm not trying to sugar coat it. It's just more common than you think."

Alex met her eyes. Liz was really hitting all the marks today. It was like fate that she came here.

**_Oh God now I'm starting to sound like her._**

"Mom had me at 41. I was the last of 4 of course, but I've also read that in some cases being able to carry a healthy baby to term in later life can be hereditary. And you've already had Nate he's healthy and happy." She waited until her sister met her eyes. "You can do this." Liz said slowly with weight. She didn't mean to be such a cheerleader but she came by it naturally.

Alex didn't say a word.

"Is it Bobby? Does he want you to have an abortion?" Liz said it as though something horrific had occurred to her, as though her knight might be tarnished.

She shook her head. She was swamped by waves of pain and guilt because _she_ was the ogre in this fairytale. "He wants to marry me." And that was when the dam broke. The tears, the snot, the shaking shoulders. She felt like she was betraying everything.

Her baby sister was mothering her in an instant. Up and across the room, an arm around her cooing. And more surprising was that Alex leaned into the warmth, leaned her head against her sisters.

"It's okay to be scared." she whispered to Alex "It's okay to not feel strong and sure."

Alex felt honesty bubbling up, and she wanted to stop it, suppress it, fight the vulnerability but she couldn't she had to say it. "I love him so much I can't catch my breath. It's inside me. This need for him. But everything will change. Everything…" she gripped her shirt and flesh over her heart trying to soothe the ache. "The partnership, the relationship, _me."_

Liz spoke low controlled. "Maybe this is the next phase. Maybe it's time to focus on _you_, the woman not the cop." she ran fingers through her sisters hair. " I know the NYPD has been everything to you, it's defined every part of you. I don't want to upset you but i- it - it sucks out the light and leaves you in the dark. Alone and conflicted. Maybe you need to take desk, or a precinct captain or something. Maybe Bobby needs to take retirement, earn a bigger private sector paycheck. Maybe you need to redefine your partnership. Maybe it needs to be a life partnership not a work one." she said it all low and soft and scarcely taking a breath. Alex sucked in air, the wet and hicuppy remnants of great emotion. This was what gave her nightmares, this was what had made her reject the man she loved, and the child in her womb.

Her sister continued. "You deserve this. _He deserves this._ Imagine Bobby with family... the unconditional love of a child..." a tear slipped down her cheek because she was a mother, because she loved her sister. "And you the most selfless loving person. Robbed of all your plans with Joe. Giving me the only thing I ever prayed for." her grip pulsed "I cry when I think of you in the city, alone in that apartment with no one, after a day of looking at the most gruesome and depraved things world has to offer."

Alex stayed silent.

"Let yourself have this honey. Please let yourself have this."


	50. Chapter 49

The whole visit had been like a healing balm. Later that afternoon Nathan had come home from school, her grown up little boy. She had played round after round of Mario Kart with him. He had presented her with a colourful stack of plastic cases and she'd immediately recognized the small, moustachioed, overall wearing character. Their avatars raced through fantastical worlds, passing, and battling and crashing. He won every time.

"You suck at driving auntie Alex!" he'd yelled happily as she spun off the course, and the irony of that statement was not lost on her. All the while they'd laughed like the world was wonderful, belly laughs. And her shoulders were shaking again but this time with glee. And she was crying again but this time from his ridiculously funny stories.

And then twilight had fallen and supper arrived. Alex had been put in charge of assembling the Cobb salad. Liz joked that she should stick to assembly and leave the cooking to cooks, which had earned her a slap. Bill had arrived home, in true Cleaver style, complete with briefcase and preoccupation. Liz had rolled her eyes and whispered "Avoid him for the first 35 minutes. He's a bear." And they all dug into a weeknight family meal - simple, quick and satisfying. And they'd told tales of school and work, occasionally talked with full mouths and choked on punchlines. Alex couldn't help but think this was what she'd been missing, a little perspective. All over the country families were doing exactly what they were right now, recapping their day, tearing into dinner rolls and knocking glasses of juice over with their elbows.

The world wasn't ending.

Bedtime came quickly and Alex received the honour of accompanying her nephew to his room, because suddenly he wasn't 9 years old but 3 or 4 again, wanting a story and a cuddle. He usually read to himself these days, books about vampires and dragons, but when auntie Alex was over he needed the routine they'd always had.

"Will you be here tomorrow?" he interrupted her reading at one point.

"No. Sorry buddy I have to work."

"I wish you could stay." he murmured and nestled into her.

"Me too." She whispered. And it struck her, _this _could be hers. She'd got up and turned off the lights and then felt drawn back to him again. She perched on the edge of his twin bed with the basketball sheets and whispered "Good night sweet boy." And in his hazy land between wake and sleep he clung to her. He was so innocent and soft. She kissed his hair and took a deep noseful of his shampoo. Sometimes Alex wondered at her need for Nathan and his for her. She decided that it was a sensory memory. Her body and his heart both knew that once upon a time she had been his mother. Her stomach was calm and all anxiety fell away as she moved her palm in slow even circles on his back.

She stayed in the guest room that night and woke up at the crack of dawn for her long trip back into the city, back to work and back to Bobby.

* * *

She walked into the squad room feeling centred and ready, for the first time in a _long_ time. She had made a few decisions. She got there before him which did cause a bit of anxiety to flare up but, she looked her casual best. A purple cashmere sweater he'd once complimented (that she knew showcased her assets) and tight faded blue jeans that may not have won any professional attire awards, but were sure to get a 'rise' out of him. Yes it was highly inappropriate to think that way, yes it was sexual manipulation, and no she didn't feel the least bit guilty. Wanting each other - especially in inappropriate places - was the new hallmark of their relationship. Besides this was love and war, so all was fair. She'd use every trick to dull the sharp edges of his anger.

_**But what about his hurt?**_

_**What about all the other...**_

She shut down the thoughts before they took her to toxic places.

"Eames, my office." Hannah bellowed and she looked up at the clock, this was a bit premature it wasn't even 8 yet, nevertheless she stood and went. He looked her up and down quickly. "You're looking rested, good. Just wanted to bring you up to speed on the last 24 hours of your investigation."

"We should wait for Goren shouldn't we?"

"No. Your bug must be catching because he's out today. You should have seen him yesterday he looked like death warmed over."

Her heart fell to her feet. _**Dammit.**_ She had prepared herself so thoroughly for a moment that wasn't going to happen. A million scenarios popped into her head. She wondered if he was genuinely sick. Or maybe he was just taking a mental health day. Then she wondered if he was avoiding her. Or maybe he was about to do a runner. **_Please don't let him leave._** Or maybe this was just a bit of tit for tat. She thought of yesterday. She'd never routed a sick call though switchboard, she always just spoke with Bobby directly, and vice versa. It was a courtesy but also a necessity because not having your partner was a major upset in a detective's day. She was certain she had worried him.

"Culpepper plead out." Hannah was saying "Conspiracy to commit, Criminal enterprise…" he waved his hands "It's a laundry list. We won't be coming across that guy again. As a term of the plea full allocution." he handed her the transcripts. "A preview." he explained "This is the statement Goren took yesterday."

She flipped briefly through the document "This is new," she murmured "Mayford placed Culpepper at the penthouse. Now Culpepper admits he and Sikes arrived together." she froze 3 pages in. "They got Sikes high. Knew about the effect this particular cut of meth had on him. Quote: 'mad and bloodthirsty.'" She blew out a harsh breath shaking her head, her sister was right there was no room for light when you knew things like this. She continued picking out points now in evidence that had only been speculation before yesterday "Mayford was the bank. Makes sense he has the money."

The story was crystal clear now that both men were talking. According to Culpepper this had all started as a frat boy drug partnership. They'd known each other in boarding school and kept in touch loosely while attending different Ivy League colleges. Mayford had discovered that law school was hotbed of drug use, mostly over the counter uppers and downers but also marijuana and little cocaine. He'd used his buddy Culpepper in another state to expand his enterprise. Because he was a trust fund kid he didn't need a 'front' (a front was when dealers gave you product and collected payment later). This Alex knew is how most weed was sold very penny ante, as small time distributers didn't usually have the cash to pay for product upfront. But together Mayford and Culpepper had both cash and territory and had soon started pulling money in hand over fist.

Culpepper had eventually decided to relocate to New York and Mayford had used his pull inside the Department of Transportation to get him a job. But Culpepper said now that they were in proximity to one another he could see how unstable and out of control his friend really was "the whole thing was a game to him, it was about risk, and getting as close to the edge as possible without being caught." Culpepper was risk averse, well, at least more risk averse then his psychopath buddy who had virtually no fear response. The bike theft ring was Culpepper's attempt to generate his own cash and get rid of Mayford. That was what had precipitated Mayford's confession. The knowledge that he was being ousted.

Culpepper used the proceeds from their drug trafficking to refurbish the Davisville bicycle chop shop (where Eames had been attacked) and on his own initiative had discovered a relatively low risk high return way to defraud the new city bike program. But he'd had to bring Mayford in on it in order to obliterate his paper trail. He admitted for the first few cons they had run full sheets on their victims, looking them up online, making them real people not just statistical data. Mostly because they were contemplating further fraud. But it was for too risky an expansion for Culpepper and they'd decided to stick to the plan to just bank overages. Unfortunately Mayford had already seen Jane (their first victim) and fixated on her. Culpepper said the next thing he knew he was getting an SOS from Mayford. He'd killed the woman. Culpepper had responded to the call because he thought it would bring them all down. But they figured Mayford's ties to the penthouse were loose and they chose the dump site because it was perfectly alien to both of them but tied to stupid Sikes. Mayford still held that Jane had found him alluring but Alex suspected she'd gone with him under duress. They would never know for sure.

"Yeah we've revised our timeline a little." Hannah said. "Not that it matters now, but when you spend a month of your life on something it's also nice to know the how." He handed Alex a sheet with Goren's large open scrawl. His timeline. She ran her thumb over the indentations his letters made and imagined she could feel him through it. In her mind's eye she saw him yesterday head down palm to forehead leaning deep over his desk scribbling onto this sheet.

Alex nodded. "You want me to get into the paper?" she asked her captain.

The captain nodded, "Goren got the ball rolling yesterday. All of his signature contributions are done. But McMichael wants it all chronological."

The DA liked a tight little bundle of files, including photographs of all items in evidence. Quirky ADA's like McMichael sometimes had special preferences, like this chronological thing. Also, if some lawyer delved into the files and and found anything off, like trails that went nowhere or forgotten signatures, it would result in a return to sender. Once she and Goren had been locked in case limbo for a week until they met the District Attorney's pernickety requests. Right about this point in every case she missed Carver. In her watery slightly nostalgic recollections the four of them - Her, Bobby, Deakins and Carver - had been like crime fighting superheroes. There hadn't been anyone in the DA's office like him since.

She walked back to her desk and sighed, looking at the bankers box of data. She felt her eyes crossing and blurring in anticipation of the nightmarish task.

**_Well done Goren. Well done._**

She'd have called in sick again too if she'd known there'd be no Bobby and _all this_. She heaved the box up onto her desk sparing a glance for his empty seat. She ached for him. They did paperwork all the time but they lightened it for each other. The best had been Wally Stevens. That case had been a paper tornado, mostly playing out in a series of offices leaving both of them butt bound for a week. At one point they'd found themselves been searching heaps of personal and professional data looking for an insurance broker that fit their profile. They had agreed to do a shot at O'Malley's for every ten files that had at least 3 out of 5 of their elusive markers. There were 1589 brokers in Manhattan alone. In the end they had gotten _absolutely_ wasted together. They called it the great mistake of 2004. They decided after a pair of vicious hangovers, that going forward, money wagers or nice steak dinners were better a alternative for a couple of middle aged cops.

It was a little bittersweet saying goodbye to Jane this way, doing it on her own. But Alex got to work, and she warded off hand cramps by stopping to correlate and copy and label. Today, when she signed the last RW-50, it would officially close the case of the kindergarten teacher from Haverford. The most transformative case of her entire career.

She had lunch at her desk in the midst of her paper torture. And while chewing a turkey salad wrap, she realized that she was in a room full of busy cops and yet totally alone. And she had an epiphany. It wasn't the job. It had _nothing_ to do with _this_ job. It was the moments of connectivity with Bobby inside the job. It was the consistency of seeing him everyday across from her. It was being of one mind with him. She realized right there that if the job fell away and she just had him it would be okay. Better then okay. It would be the best thing ever. There would be no more hiding or worrying or second guessing, they would be free. But she hadn't seen or heard from him in almost 2 days and it felt like 2 years. She wondered if she might not know him anymore._** Stop being stupid**_ that harsh voice mocked. But she couldn't. She worried her nail, unsettled enough to pick up her cell and text him.

**Hi. Are you feeling okay? **her fingers flew over the keyboard

After 10 torturous minutes:

**I'm fine.**

**Can I come over tonight?** she ventured.

**I don't think that's a good idea**

She felt a lump form in her throat and a stinging heat behind her eyes, right there in the middle squad room.

**Why not?**

**Because of how we left it**

**I want to talk about that**

**No**

His word snapped her heart in two. It seemed so cruel sitting there alone in a text bubble.

**Okay we'll talk about the case**

**A development?**

**Yes** she lied because if she didn't see him today she didn't know what she would do. **See you around 7**

No response. He just left her hanging. Of course, she told herself, he didn't need to say anything else she'd said it all.

But still.

* * *

She found herself at 7:41pm having a crisis of confidence outside his apartment door. But before she could knock the door was flung open. He came at her with his coat on and he seemed to be leaving. Her eyes combed down every inch of him, freshly washed, hair still damp, black coat, dark denim, grey and white pinstriped button down shirt and painfully handsome. Her hands trembled at the sight of him, moving up from her sides to touch him but she clenched them and forced them back down.

"Going out." she stated the obvious.

"I thought you weren't coming."

"It's not even 8."

"I was feeling antsy." He slapped his palms against the outside of his thighs. He filled the doorway his body creating a barrier she couldn't breach.

"Can I come in? Or do you have a date?" she snarked.

He moved back ever so slightly and she stood trapped on the threshold. "Did you do it?" he barked abruptly.

"Do what?" she asked puzzled.

"Get rid of it."

The colour left her. "Really Bobby? On the doorstep?"

He stepped back to admit her into his apartment. "Did you?"

"Of course not." she slammed the door angrily. How insensitive.

"You didn't?" he weighed the idea and she could see the tension drain away and the relief marking every inch of his body. **_He really wants this._** It was the first time she saw it so clearly. It was the first time she had gotten out of her own head and really looked at him.

"Oh. So you stayed away to avoid me on the day after. Well I wouldn't have been at work. God Bobby. What kind of ghoul do you think I am. I'm not cavalier about this. And I want you to know what's going on. And I wouldn't do it solo."

"Oh."

"Yeah, Oh" she hit his chest with her fist to punctuate the word.

"So the case."

"I lied. It's closed."

He let out a gusty sigh.

"You want me to leave?" she challenged getting in his face a little. And without missing a beat he bent and grabbed her mouth with his. She kissed him with everything pent up - negative, positive, all of it. Her arms curled around his neck she went up on her toes. She felt his hands on her and then she was wrapped in those arms. And she smelled him and tasted him. Home. This was home.

"Are we going to just stand here and make out?" she whispered against his mouth some minutes later.

"Yes."

She laughed.

"Why is it like this?" Because she couldn't kiss him enough, couldn't get close enough.

"Because I love you." he murmured lips against her ear "And you love me."

Her heart skipped. "But I've loved you forever it feels like."

"Well we're in the honeymoon phase of our new relationship. So let's make it count."

"Ahhhh you romantic." she laughed between small pecking kisses so happy to not be the only cynic.

"You want more moonbeams and fairytales?" he nuzzled her cheek.

"No we're good. I OD'd on them at my sister's house." she finger combed the damp hair at his nape.

"Is that where you were? How is Liz?"

"Sweet, chipper." she paused then added "She thinks you're my soulmate."

"I am." he cupped her face with both hands "Beshert"

"What?"

"Yiddish. My destiny."

"Speaking in tongues?"

"No just something I remember."

"So you agree with my crazy sister."

"Uh huh." he kissed her again deep and long and she felt in her soul and her soles, he pushed her coat to the floor and thrust his hand up under her sweater just searching for flesh, just wanting that connection. She felt his large warm hands on the small of her back.

"I'm having the baby." There she'd said it. It was out. No take backs. She trembled again.

"And you're going to marry me." he said firmly tightening his hold. His mothers ring was burning a hole in his pocket.

"Okay." she heard someone say, and then realised it was her. She couldn't be away from this, him ever again.

He laughed, then laughed some more and sounded so young and carefree. The lines etched in his brow fell away and so did the doubts. His face revealing the man she'd met a dozen years ago. He grabbed her face and kissed her so hard that it pressed the blood from their lips and it hurt a little. "I love you so much." he said and she could see the truth of that glowing in him and her eyes glistened. He lead her over to his old comfy chair. She sat and he dropped heavily to his knees there on the carpet between her splayed thighs. He grabbed her left hand and pushed the ring on.

"Tell me you like it."

"I… I love it." she stammered her head spinning with how quickly she'd been claimed. He had no reservations at all. They'd all been hers. She knew the history of this ring it was Frances Goren's, but not just, it was fourth generation, her mothers before that and hers before that. Alex had never seen it. And here it was on her finger. And she did love it, it was so beautiful a delicate detailed white gold band with a round cut diamond surrounded by a course of smaller diamonds. Like a sparkling winking bullseye.

"We can do so- something different if…"

"No, no" She pressed a finger to his lips. "I said I love it. It has history. I love you." And he rested his head in her lap and she gasped with shock and pleasure at his vulnerability, laying a shaking hand on his salt and pepper crown. Every defence was down, every wall incinerated.

"Can we do this Bobby?" she said after a long loving silence.

And he rose up and captured her eyes. "Yes. Definitely."

And finally she believed him.


	51. Chapter 50

_**Epilogue**_

_****__**6 Months Later**_

_**In the year and a ****half plus that he'd been visiting this doctor's office in Midtown, it had changed very little. Why mess with perfection anyway. It had a clean modern aesthetic that suited the business at hand. An uncluttered room for unburdening minds. But today something was different, today Dr. Gyson had suggested they take this out to the terrace. It wasn't exactly a park bench but it felt like a reward anyway. He liked to think it was a commentary on how far he'd come and how pleased she was with the leaps he'd taken toward mental health. Closed doors for deep, dark secrets, doors flung wide for peaceful contemplation.**_

_**"So," Dr. Gyson looked as fresh and as radiant as ever. Her mane still ****shampoo commercial rich **and gleaming in the sunlight. "I understand this is our last session."_

_**"My last day as a detective. I can't afford you anymore." he smiled.**_

_**She smiled also but as always it was slight and cryptic "This is a momentous day."**_

_**"Been a long time coming."**_

_**"I agree."**_

_**He tilted is head. "Why's that?"**_

_**"It's the final step. You think the job is the only thing that defines you. You think that without the puzzle you don't matter. It's a lie but it's the only one you've chosen to believe." He vaguely knew she was quoting herself from a time when she'd been speaking to a different person, a deeply troubled soul."There's no away you can trust your own judgement. Not when you put the job before the man."**_

_**He nodded. "I remember." he said simply.**_

_**"Today you're so much more."**_

_**"I am."**_

_**"What do you think is different between Robert Goren then and Robert Goren now."**_

_**"Everything."**_

_**"That answer was too broad."**_

_**"And that question was too shrink-like." **_

_**"Okay then. You're married." she said simply and he looked at the thin band of gold on his left ring finger. "You once asked if I thought you could have what other people have. You tell me. Do you feel fulfilled?"**_

_**"More then fulfilled. Complete." And she could see a far off glow in his eye. It was remarkable like a beacon of contentment. She'd once felt nervous in a room with this big, intimidating, erratic, quick to flare cop and now she felt comforted in his presence. "Alex was my other half professionally for so long. I had no idea that this was the way we were meant to be."**_

_**"You love her." It was a statement.**_

_**"I love her. I never knew that I could love someone this way." **_

_**She was blown away by h**__**is ****emotional honesty, **_but her face betrayed nothing. T**hey'd worked hard to get to this point, but to hear him lay his heart bare without a moments hesitation… Dr Paula Gyson was thinking he just might have to be the anonymous case study in her upcoming journal submission on the topic of 'Transformative Change.' And all this in only 20 months. It was as close as a psychiatrist came to admitting that the thing they called 'anomalous recovery' might be a touch divine. She was certain when she'd met Detective Goren that he'd have been fired by now, or eaten his gun or gone an even darker way. There had been a desolation in him. She had wanted to hand him off to a colleague rather then personally witness his slow decline. This was man before her was unbelievably solid and it was so gratifying.**

_**"You've been married for 2 months now. How's it going?"**_

_**"2 months on Sunday" They'd had a spring wedding. A simple outdoor gathering with 30 attendees. "It's ****great. We've just closed on a new place. We need an extra bedroom." he explained "We're consolidating our lives, our stuff, you know."**_

_**"How is the day to day? Both of you were pretty solitary people."**_

_**"I don't know. It's odd." he leaned back surveying the world, the bikes and joggers and trees swaying in the breeze. "We pretty much moved in together as soon as she accepted my proposal and we've never looked back. Does she hate my underwear on the floor?" He shrugged sheepishly "She may have threatened me a time or two." ****That actually made the good doctor laugh. "But we want the same things now."**_

_**"Meaning?"**_

_**"We were tense, angry we could never seemed to get it just right."**_

_**"And now?"**_

_**"It ****beautiful. It's a symphony."**_

_**"That's poetic."**_

_**"Was it? I meant literally the blend, collaboration, the harmony. It's like the partnership is finally in it's proper context."**_

_**"You're happy."**_

_**"I am happy." he closed his eyes for just a split second longer then normal but she saw it. She was starting to envy his pleasure.**_

_**"You're going to be a father." she stated.**_

_**He laughed just a little because it could still shock him. "I am."**_

_**"How do you think that will impact the symphony?" **_

_**Now he belly laughed "You're right that did sound crazy." he laughed again mumbling, "Symphony." shaking his head.**_

_**"Well?"**_

_**"Positively?" It was a question though he was quite optimistic.**_

_**"Are you ready?"**_

_**"Is anyone? We're doing everything we can, financially, from a health perspective. I took early retirement because I've been offered this teaching job, Behavioural Sciences for the FBI field office in Newark, pays slightly more, equal benefits, better hours and there are opportunities for in the field consultation. Alex is taking a leave before she starts at the 34th." She was going back to Inwood, it had all come full circle.**_

_**"All amazing strides, what about emotionally?"**_

_**"This is my emotional contribution." he gestured to them. "Getting my head straight."**_

_**"And Alexandra?" **_

_**"She's our rock. She's always known this is how it should be." **_

_**Gyson nodded and ran a delicate hand through her hair. "It's just around the corner. The baby. August …"**_

_**"August 25th, tentatively, she's breach right now. We aren't sure how that will play out. We might have to schedule a c-section." He knew everything there was to know about this process. Robert Goren now read 'What to Expect When You're Expecting' and Doctor Spock the way he'd once (and still occasionally did) read books on serial killers.**_

_** He felt the mid summer warmth on his exposed arms. He would be a father, he would have a baby girl in 2 short months. Alex was radiant. She made pregnancy look easy. It hadn't been though. First there were the screening tests,** **targeted ultrasounds, amniocentesis, and chorionic villus sampling. It had been overwhelming, the diseases had risks but so did the tests, they weren't sure they should take them.**_

_**And then there was the disciplinary action they'd faced at work, including mediation and the threats. All of it was out of Hannah's hands. Higher ups had gotten wind. Someone had likely snitched. They'd believed their captain when he'd said he would have kept it private. It had been an awful stressful time. But once the NYPD realized that they weren't aiming to stay together on the job, and that they had already mentally moved on from the partnership, they were much less punitive and much more open to the plan they had presented.**_

_**That was how Alex had managed to get the ****position replacing the exiting Captain Bradshaw in the 34th precinct. That was how Bobby had gotten a sweet early retirement adios package. Best of all there was no overlap. In his new capacity at the FBI he would be a federal employee, r**__**etiring from the city and then working for the city was a major no no, but so many cops didn't know anything outside the city. But this way Bobby would **_avoid any financial hand slaps for double dipping, so he could enjoy the benefits of both a salary and a pension at once. It'd taken over 50 years but he was feeling pretty flush. In fact together Bobby and Alex were feeling more financially optimistic now then either of them ever felt in their adult lives. They would be a six figure family, two jobs, a pension, a lump sum pay off in the bank and a little extra from the sale of her condo. All that didn't go as far in New York as it might in St. Louis or Boise or even just across the river in Newark but they were going to make a good life for their child. A life he'd never dreamed of with some of the finer things. He thought often that he and Alex should have done this ages ago. Becoming life partners had allowed them to realize some pretty rarified dreams. Then other times he'd look at them, so mature so at peace and he knew that the timing was just perfect. 

_**"How do you feel about fatherhood? I know we discussed your reservations."**_

_**He nodded. "It's a little…It's scary." his laugh was nervous and his stomach clenched on cue. He still had worries 'esteem issues' Alex called them, about whether he was up to it, about whether he was too old, too weird, too inflexible, but he didn't really have a choice did he? This time he would make himself man up.**_

_**"I'll bet." **_

_**"But it's like a great big clock counting down. It's inevitable. We're ready. Besides Alex has this huge family, the support and hand me downs have been great."**_

_**"What about her family?" She uncrossed her legs, shifted her weight and then recrossed them. "**_**_There was a lot of anxiety there."_**

**_"That was the only place it wasn't warranted." God, he'd almost ruptured something in fear the day they'd knocked on her fathers door. And at first her father had remained stoic, hard. But then he'd burst into a grin. And the rest was history._**

**_"I have to say detective, I am impressed." She looked down and then up "Don't tell my other patients."_**

**_He actually blushed because he had fought her opinion, shunned her influence and now he respected her. He was grateful._**

**_"Please remember I'm here if it ever gets too hard. If you feel yourself slipping. Don't think about payment, just call." She felt invested in his success like a mother bird launching her fledgling from the nest. He nodded and he sobered. He wasn't going to spiral out. He couldn't. He was going to ask for help when the darkness came calling. A streak_****__****_ of red grabbed his eye between the gaps in the ornate forged metal railing. Looking down on the street below he saw his_** mustang round the corner and pull to a stop beneath them.

**_"My ride is here." he smiled._**

**_"And your time is up. Perfect."_**

**_And he made his way out through a series of doors until he was moving lightly down the front steps, to the beautiful heavily pregnant creature leaning casually against his (other) baby. Alex looked so carefree. Her blond hair lifting off her sun kissed shoulders, her strappy sundress ending just above her knees and lovingly cupping her distended abdomen. He couldn't tear his gaze from her toned golden caves and delicate feet in flat sandals. _**

**_"Alex." he shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his trousers._**

**_"How'd it go?"_**

**_"Good."_**

**_"Good." She smiled. "Now get over here and kiss me."_**

**_"I'm waiting for my wife." he played that old schtick. But schtick or not she swooned._**

**_"She won't mind." She waggled her brows pulling him close. Her lips were soft and open and they lingered longer then they meant to. They both got into the car and he paused with his hand over the ignition taking a moment just to look at her as she arranged the seatbelt below her stomach. His future. His breath caught in his throat. _**

**_"Let's go," she urged._**

**_"Home." They said in unison._**

**_And everything was as it should be, the birds chirped, the sun shone, the people moved briskly along glorious tree lined sidewalks and their _****_taillights receded into the distance._**

* * *

A/N: Well it feels like the morning after Christmas, or the the day after you arrive home from a great vacation. I feel a little sad to see all the fun in the rear view mirror and a lot out of sorts. I really, really enjoyed writing this story and I hope you enjoyed reading it. I read every single review (and maybe obsessed over them just a little bit). They were a wonderful part of the process. I think my idea of endnotes does seem a bit indulgent now, I'm kind of dying to share my canon minutiae fixation (borderline psychosis) but I'll restrain myself. Thanks everybody. You'll be reading my stuff again at some point, this is addictive.


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